The Key to my Heart (Or to Baz's Diary)
by Bushee
Summary: Simon finds Baz's diary after flipping their room upside down in a fit of rage. Except it's locked... Then Simon agrees to do a 'favour' for Baz. Simon didn't know it would mean going to Baz's home and having to pretend to be his boyfriend during winter break. The diary is his only way out. Though he can't seem to find that damn key...
1. The Little Blue Book

**Simon**

I practically rip the door off its hinges when I return to my room, ignoring Baz's shooting glares. My books hit the floor next to my bed before I throw myself on to it.

"What's with the pissy mood, Snow?" Baz mocks. I don't need to hear that prick's voice right now. If only he'd shut up for once-

"I don't want you leaving trails of your shit around this room, Snow. Are you going to be picking that up any time soon?" He gestures to the textbooks I have sprawled all over the floor. I give him a vulgar gesture before storming in to the bathroom, making a point of slamming the door behind me.

I open the bathroom door again just enough to poke my head through- "Fuck off Baz, I'll pick that up when I feel like it." -before slamming the door once again. Can't I have a moments peace? He makes me want to explode sometimes. _All_ the time.

I sink back against the door, it isn't long before the tears start flowing. I do my best to stifle them with my arm. Agatha just ended it with me. Sure, it was only a matter of time. I could tell I wasn't enough for her, that I would never _be_ enough. It was only a matter of time before she decided to let me of the hook. Because it was all borrowed time.

As I lean my head against the door, I start to cry harder when I think of how amused Baz must be feeling right now. I know he can hear me, and at this point, I've completely given up on trying to hide the sobs racking my body.

I'll never be a good enough boyfriend.

 **Baz**

Simon makes it really hard for me to keep up this bitchy act. He's made it hard for years.

I stopped reading, putting down the book in my hand the second I picked up on the crying coming from the other side of the bathroom door.

I'd say something to mock him, to make him feel bad, because that's what I do when I feel vulnerable. When Simon makes my heart beat faster with how much I'm in love with him. Except the sobs that started out quietly, and are getting progressively louder, make my heart crack for him.

So I don't say anything. I figure he'll be in there for a while letting out everything he's been holding in. Then he'll take some more time to clean off his face and the tears I can imagine running down it, before coming out of that bathroom.

Instead I pull out the little blue book I have tucked underneath my bed. Then I reach for the key tucked under my mattress. I unlock the book and flip through some of my older entries. One could call this a diary, but it's only a place I like to jot my thoughts down on to.

I pause on a page from sixth year, making sure Simon is still crying before speaking.

"Having fun in there, Snow?" I feel like the biggest dick in the world when the crying subsides for a minute, then starts up again, but louder. I didn't think I'd have to say anything, but somehow with this book in my lap, I'm feeling like an animal backed into a corner.

It's my heart resting on my lap. One that Simon could very much flip through and read like a book. He can read my heart like a book. So I mocked him. To keep him in there for just a little bit longer.

I stopped on this page because I'd written about Simon. Almost like every page in this book isn't about Simon. On the page was a day when I remember breaking down in the catacombs. The only place where I can find any sort of privacy. Simon was the only thing in my head. The only thing I was capable of thinking about. I cried my eyes out that night.

Two years ago. That's when I'd written this. I lock the book and tuck it back under my bed. Reading what went through my head that night was hard. I'd stopped on that page because of the beautiful boy on the other side of the bathroom. I don't know why he's crying and Crowley knows he'll never tell me why.

It's good to know I'm not the only one, though.

 **Simon**

I must've been in here for forty five minutes. Cried for a good thirty. Now I'm just sitting on the cold tile floor, thinking. I have to let it go. It'll do me no good to keep thinking about everything I did wrong, everything I didn't do right.

But Baz is sitting out there. I don't want to have to face him. Because he brings out the worst in me. I don't want to be mocked. Reminded of all I'm going to do my best to forget.

Before I can convince myself otherwise, I open the door and make my way to the bed, my face still looking like a mess. I don't dare look at Baz, though out of the corner of my eye I can tell he's watching me.

I lie down and stare up at the ceiling, my head clear for once. "Finished crying, sunshine?"

I can't take it. With Baz it's like flipping a switch. Especially when I'm feeling shitty as is. The tears come like I wasn't just crying for thirty minutes straight. But this time I'm angry. Blinded by rage. Baz can't just let me live my life in peace for a day? He knows I'm pissed.

"Can't you just leave me alone!" I yell. I don't even make a move to wipe the tears from my face. Let him see me like this. Broken and angry and alone, with him still choosing to make me feel like shit.

"You're not helping!" I continue to yell. "I feel like crap, Baz! I don't care what you have to say to me, I don't want to have to listen to you! Fucking leave me alone!"

There are so many emotions swirling through my mind, that I'm lost when Baz gets up and walks out of the room, shutting the door behind him with a soft click. I would be wondering where he's going, it's the dead of night, but I'm pissed and couldn't care less.

I don't even dwell on the fact that it's so unlike Baz to actually listen to what I say, let alone do it without a tinge of bitchiness.

I'm angry. That's how I find myself throwing the sheets off of my bed, emptying my drawers along with Baz's, throwing clothes around the room with all of my strength. Screaming at nothing. Screaming at myself and how stupid I am.

I kick at everything I've thrown across the room, punch the wall, my pillow, the bed. I don't care that Baz will kill me when he comes back. I flip my mattress and hurl it across the room as far is it will go.

Suddenly I stop. The extent of everything that I've done hits me. The lamplight illuminates my shadow on the wall. I pause, trying to regulate my breathing, currently erratic with the adrenaline of turning our room upside down.

My eyes roam over the floor, the beds, the drawers, the destruction that I've made. I realize that Baz might do a lot more than just kill me. He's going to be furious. It's a goddamn miracle that I haven't gone off, that the room wasn't set aflame.

I continue to scan the room. The floor is nothing short of a disaster. I start to pick up some of the clothes, dropping them on to my bed, now without a mattress. The clothes that Baz and I wear are nothing short of _really_ similar. Mostly consisting of our Watford uniforms and a couple of pairs of boxers and socks. The only thing that'll help me differentiate who's are who's things are the size differences between us.

This is going to take a lot longer than one night to fix. I scan the floor again. Suddenly my eyes catch on baby blue sticking out from underneath Baz's bed. It's none of my business, but I figure that I'm already a dead man walking, so I pull it out.

It's a… book? But it's got a gold lock on the side. What the hell? Baz keeps a diary?


	2. Let's Make a Deal

**Baz**

After Simon yelled at me, I figured that the least I could do was leave the room, and leave him in peace. I admit, my dignity may have been slightly tarnished, but I pushed the thought aside when I thought about Simon crying in front of my face.

When he doesn't give a shit, neither should I. It's been a good half hour since I left, and all I've been doing in that time was walk around the boys dormroom hallways. Climbed up the stairs, wandering, and making my way back down.

I figured that it's getting late, and I'd like nothing more than to go to bed. I'll do nothing more, just brush my teeth and change, then go to sleep.

 **Simon**

I hear footsteps behind the door, and I scramble to throw the diary back under Baz's bed. Then I curse myself for it, placing the book back where it was originally. When Baz opens the door, I realize I'd been so caught up with that book, that I'd forgotten to clean up some of the disaster.

I'm struggling to make out what Baz is feeling as his eyes wander the floor, the bed's, the drawers. He hasn't said a word, making it rather difficult to make out any emotions. I haven't decided if his silence is a good or bad thing.

Neither of us have moved from our position in the room. Baz doesn't peel his eyes away from the floor as he reaches behind himself to shut the door.

Then he laughs. Not just a chuckle, a fully on belly laugh. I'm stunned, still unable to move from my place. I scan his face once again. It must be genuine laughter, considering the fact that tears are forming in Baz's eyes. He's bent over, hands holding his middle.

" _Holy shit,_ " He chokes out, before returning to his cackling. At this point I've come to the conclusion that Baz is in hysterics, so I ignore him and start picking up clothing from the floor.

"Oh fuckkk Snow! What the hell did you do?" He walks over to the space between our beds and picks up a t-shirt from the floor, peeling off the one he is currently wearing. I want to knock his lights out when Baz discards his old shirt on the floor.

I fight to keep my mouth shut though, because I've had enough of his shit for a week. I'll take whatever peace I can get. Baz saunters into the bathroom and starts to brush his teeth. I was hoping he'd shut the door so I wouldn't have to hear _or_ look at door remains very much open.

Thank crowley he's keeping to himself. I couldn't care less that Baz is going to let me clean this. He and I both know that his magic could fix this in a matter of seconds.

Let him mock me. Let him laugh at me. Because I've got something against him now. A little blue book.

I wish my magic was up to par with everyone else's more than ever. I wish I could use magic to open that diary. Leave it to the smart ass in the other room to figure out I wouldn't be able to open that if I tried.

That leaves me two options, try and melt the lock of and risking burning the entire thing, or looking for the key. I decide to drop the subject and focus on cleaning the room, I have time to figure that out. What he's been plotting.

With my head cleared, I don't even notice when Baz walks back into the room. I Hear him shuffle around in his bed, so I risk a glance. Baz turns to face the wall and pulls the covers nearly up to his nose, leaving me to my cleaning.

The lamplight illuminates the room, and I wonder how Baz can sleep with it still on. He's not sleeping though, I realize as I glance at Baz, his breathing tells me that much.

"Serves you right." I mutter. I really didn't intend for him to hear me, but Baz does, and perks up.

 **Baz**

I keep my tone as calm as I can. "Snow, I _really_ don't feel like fighting you right now. So can you clean your shit and go the fuck to sleep please?"

I can practically see the anger radiating off of Snow. "This is your shit too you know! Can't you just use your magic and fix this! I'm tired dammit, and I'm sorry! I didn't mean for things to get this out of hand!" Simon yells.

I can tell that he's fighting back tears. He's already cried in front of me once today and twice would just humiliate him.

"How about we make a deal, Snow?" I say, because I've been trying to figure out how to ask Simon this for a while now.

He doesn't speak, giving me the okay to continue. "I'll spell this mess away if you do me a favour." He perks up slightly, then tries to hide it.

"Baz." He growls. "Spell the fucking room back!"

"So you'll do it?" I say, biting my lip in an attempt to hide my smirk. The boy doesn't know what he's getting himself in to.

"As long as it's not wiping your ass for you, then sure I'll do it. Now _spell the room back!_ "

"How do I know you'll really do it?" I say. Simon is practically shooting daggers at me with his eyes, but he stops to think about it.

"Isn't there some magic thing I can swear on or something?" Simon is eager, I can tell. Eager to be done with this disaster he's created.

"I can cast a spell after you say you'll do it, binding you to your word, yep."

"I want to know what I'm doing for you, then." If I tell Snow he'll say no for sure, I guarantee it.

"You're going to say no if I tell you the favour, so just say the words and I'll spell this room all nice and tidy for you."

"Baz." He growls. "What can be that _bad_ that I'll back out of you spelling this mess away?"

"I'm not telling you." I hum. It's not very long before Simon gives up his internal fighting and gives in to my deal.

"Get your wand out." Simon tells me, and I do. "Listen carefully, I'm only saying this once. Hurry up and cast your spell, Baz."

I cast **whatever you say!** Before Simon speaks. "I will do your favour."

When I move to drop my wand, Simon grabs for my wrist. " _Spell the room back."_ He hisses. I point my wand at the biggest heap of clothes that I can see, casting **as you were!** And just like that the room is back to normal.

Simon visibly relaxes and slumps down on to his bed. I sink down on to mine.

"What is this damn favour I've got to do for you?" Simon asks. I have to say, I'm scared. I shouldn't be scared to tell Simon, but I am.

"What is it Baz!?" I have to say it. He has to do this favour for me anyways, it'll make no difference if he gets angry or not.

"Well," I start. I'll make this as short as I can. "You know how we're getting our annual break in two days, a week out of Watford?" I say. Simon nods, and his foot bounces nervously.

"Well, I know you don't have any plans and before you ask, Everyone else has plans over the break, so they couldn't do this favour for me. You weren't my first choice,more like my last. So, my parents are expecting me to bring someone home in that time, and obviously I'm not dating anyone. You're going to be my pretend boyfriend, Snow."


	3. The Catacombs

**Simon**

I'm stunned into silence. I don't know what I should be feeling right now. I'm going to the Pitch mansion for the break, stuck playing the role of Baz's boyfriend?

The first thing that comes out of my mouth is, "I didn't know you liked boys." I'm doing my damn best not to get heated too quickly. I'm going to be stuck doing this for a week.

Baz just continues scanning my face. "More so, I've liked _a_ boy. Just one. Never been attracted to anyone else so I guess that makes me gay, yeah."

"So your family is expecting you to bring a boy home for the break and you just roped me in to this shit?" I can't help the sharp edge to my voice, my temper is flying out the window.

Baz looks at his feet. "Well, that's not really the case. Partially though." He takes in a shuddering breath and I can't help thinking that Baz is going to cry in front of me. He doesn't though. But I can tell he's close.

"My family doesn't know I like boys. I never told them. I figured that this was the perfect opportunity to tell them. By bringing a boy home instead of a girl. After the break I'll just tell them you and I broke up. At least then my sexuality won't be a surprise."

What? _What?_ So I could be walking in to a house full of homophobes, pretending to be their sons _boyfriend?_ Hell no.

"I thought you wanted a small favour Baz!" I stand from my spot on the bed, fists balled at my sides. Baz continues to look at the floor, refusing to meet my eyes. He runs shaky fingers through his hair.

" _Please_ , Simon." It almost scares me. Baz said please _and_ called me Simon. But I can't. There's no way in hell that I can put up with a week of this with anyone, let alone my sworn enemy.

"What'll happen if I don't do this favour. What will the magic do to me?" I ask. It can't be worse than this trip.

I glance at Baz. He's really crying now. I never thought I'd see the day that Baz fucking Pitch cries in front of my face. He gets up and walks to the door. His hand pauses in the knob.

"If you're willing to take that option, find out the consequences yourself." Then he just- walks out. Not another word. I can hear his near silent cries for a few seconds before he disappears down the hallway.

If he's not going to tell me what the consequences are, I'm forced to fucking go. Knowing Baz, he'll probably have this stupid magic bound deal be the death of me if I don't comply. I wait a few seconds before sprinting after Baz on silent feet.

The entire time I trail a few metres behind Baz, making sure that I go unseen and unheard. He stops outside of the boys building and starts _picking flowers?_ His crying has stopped, but Baz lets out a couple quiet sniffles as he bunches the flowers stems in his hand.

When Baz has what appears to be a little bouquet of flowers, he resumes walking, and this time I pick up on where he's heading before we get there.

 **Baz**

I don't know how I'll be able to tell my family if Simon doesn't agree to this. He just watched me break down and I couldn't care less. Let him think what he wants.

So I made myself leave. He can find out what my damn spell will do to him on his own.

Instead, I make my way outside and gather a bunch of flowers before I get to where I've been heading. The only place I can go.

After descending a few flights of stairs, I reach the catacombs. I place the flowers in front of me and kneel down before the only person who I can talk to. The only person who'll listen.

My mother.

 **Simon**

I realize that Baz is going to the catacombs. What? I stop a good distance away, pausing behind a wall where I can still very much see Baz. This could be the day I find out everything he's been plotting. I don't know what kind of spells he's planning on doing with those flowers, but I'm here to watch it all go down.

When Baz kneels and the flowers get placed just in front of him, everything comes crashing down on me. I realize what Baz is doing. _His mother. He's come to visit his mother._ It makes me feel bad for following him all this way.

Maybe he knows I'm following him and this is only a way of throwing me off? I'm far enough away that I could run before Baz catches me.

The silence is eating away at me. What is he doing? Does he think I'm falling for this? I'm not as oblivious as he thinks I am. I'll wait this out as long as I have to.

 **Baz**

I'm not sure how to start this off. I have so much to say and no one to say it to. But mothers are always there to listen when no one else is willing to.

I press my forehead to the rock where _Natasha Grimm-Pitch_ is engraved, then run my fingers over the name.

"Mother." The words sound foreign on my tongue. I wish now more than ever that she were here with me.

I keep my tone gentle. My teeth are grinding together in attempt at keeping the tears from spilling over. I know it's only a matter of time before I can't hold them back.

"Would you be ashamed of me," I start. "If you lived long enough to see what I am, what I've become." At first, I thought I'd been speaking about loving Simon, but I realize that this isn't about him. It's about the reason she killed herself, the vampires. That I've been made a vampire.

Just like that, with my head still pressed to the rock, tears start streaming down my face, dripping from my chin onto the flowers on the ground near my feet.

"I was too young then to understand what I was to become, mother. If I was older then, old enough to realize what had been done to me, I don't know if I would have made the decision you did, I don't know if I would have made the choice to kill myself as you did. If I valued life over- over _this_. What I've been turned in to. I've learned to live with it though. I hope you understand more than anything."

The tears are coming harder than ever. My body is shaking with the force of them.

I lean my entire side against the rock where my mother lies, I know she's listening. Then I lower my tone to something just above a whisper, tracing my fingers over the name in front of me.

"I love you, mother."

 **Simon**

Seeing Baz like this is hard. It's hard to remember everything he's ever said to me. Easy to forget the reasons why he pisses me off.

But what is he speaking about? What he's become? The catacombs echo with the sound of Baz's silent sobs. I risk a glance and notice he's leaning against the rock with his mothers name, eyes closed. Looking peaceful, other than the fact that he's crying.

I'm overcome with a certain sense of guilt for listening in on Baz's conversation with his mother. I realize I shouldn't be here, that I shouldn't have heard a word of what I did. I force myself to turn around and get back to our room. Let Baz take all of the time he needs with his mother. That shouldn't be any of my business.

Baz's cries echo in my mind as I make my way back in to the boys dorms. The sound has been foreign to me for so many years. It was always hard to believe Baz even cried.

I push the thought aside and enter the bathroom to take a shower before Baz returns to our room. We're leaving for this damned trip tomorrow morning. Crowley, I'm really not ready for this. I wonder if being a fake boyfriend means the Pitch family will expect us to fake kiss. The thought makes me cringe.

I let the water from the shower head hit my face, _please let me wake up_ , I silently pray.

While I finish up, drying my hair with a towel, I hear the door click and I know Baz is back. I won't say anything to him about what I saw. It'll only spark another unwanted argument between us. I doubt he'll be in the mood to smirk or taunt me after everything.

I open the bathroom door and tug a shirt on over my head. Baz enters the bathroom to shower after I leave. Sitting down on my bed, my eyes involuntarily stray to where I'd last spotted a corner of light blue underneath Baz's bed.

I wait until I hear water running before reaching for it. Surely Baz will be taking this with him on the trip. He'd probably want to document the hell he's putting me through. I quickly throw some things into a bag for tomorrow, mostly consisting of clean clothes.

Then I focus my attention back on the diary. Maybe I could use this against Baz on the trip. If he tries anything funny, this can be my secret weapon. It's not going to be opened any time soon, so I wedge my thumb between a random page and pry the book open as much as I can with the lock in the way.

A thumb space is just about as much as it'll budge. Screw it. I can only make out a couple of words, but that's got to count for something.

 _-so in love with him-_

 _-to the catacombs to-_

 _\- cried for an hour-_

My mind is nothing short of a mess. Baz said he _liked_ a boy earlier. He's in love? My heart does a little jump thinking about the fact that Baz was even capable of loving someone. Other than his family that is.

I can't help but think it's Dev or Niall. The only boys he's close to. His best mates. It's kinda cute that he'd be in love with one of them.

Then he talks about the catacombs… I couldn't make out much there, but that proves he's been plotting something and it's in this book. I need that key.

Also turns out that Baz does cry. A lot more than I'd ever known about. It's like I really don't know my roommate and enemy. I realize I didn't tell Baz I'm coming. As far as he knows I'm willing to face certain death by disobeying his spell.

I put the diary back under Baz's bed and walk over to the bathroom door, knocking twice to get Baz's attention.

"What is it Snow?" I can barely make out his voice over the sound of running water.

"I'm coming tomorrow." I leave it at that.

"Thank you." He says. I can't help but wonder if there really is another side to Baz Pitch I've yet to know. Maybe I could learn a thing or two about my enemy on this trip.


	4. The Road to Hell

**Simon**

Immediately upon waking up this morning, I change my clothes and brush my teeth, preparing for life in hell.

After about forty five minutes Baz is at the door with his bag, but I'm not about to rush. I'll savour every damn minute I can that isn't in the Pitch mansion. Thank crowley that Baz doesn't rush me. I hope he feels like crap for stringing me along on this trip. Who am I kidding, he's probably loving it.

Baz isn't even looking at me, and it makes me feel just a little bit better that he'll let me keep to myself the last morning I have in peace. Then the urge kicks in, my eyes stray to that same spot underneath Baz's bed that has been begging for my attention these past few days.

I realize with a quiet sigh that Baz must've already taken his diary and packed it with him. I'll have to find it once we arrive at his home. Then the real fun will begin.

Once I've got everything packed, which isn't very much, I head to the door and open it. Soon enough I begin trudging down the hall, Baz's quiet footsteps trailing behind me.

I say a silent goodbye to Watford as we reach Baz's car. What can I do except _try_ to have a good time. Any thoughts of having to be Baz's boyfriend leave my mind as he dumps our luggage in the back of the car.

I open the passenger side door and slump down into the cushiony chair, fastening my seatbelt around my waist. Baz and I haven't spoken a word to each other all morning, but I'm not complaining.

 **Baz**

Snow hasn't complained, snickered or even sulked all morning, which I must say is quite the accomplishment for him. We've been driving for around five minutes, and with a few glances at Simon I can tell he hasn't taken his eyes off of the road ahead.

"So," I croak. My voice is rough from lack of use. With another glance to the side I see that Simon is looking at me. I got his attention. Good.

"Are we going to discuss the rules?" He asks. That's exactly what I was going to bring up.

"Yeah, I was getting to that." I say. I'm not exactly sure how to start this conversation. "Um, do you have any questions about the dating thing?"

"Well of course. I'm too fucking drained to start yelling at you, so just tell me who'll be at the mansion for the time being."

I nod. It's a bit strange having a civilized conversation with Snow. I'm so used to the mocking and yelling at this point, that I've nearly forgotten how to speak without a hint of malice directed at him.

"I spoke with my father earlier. My step mom is away for work, so it'll just be him, my aunt Fiona, and my three sisters. Mordelia and the twins. The twins are only babies so, you won't have to worry about them."

Simon doesn't say anything to that, but changes the topic entirely. "Will I have to kiss you?" There it is, the elephant in the room. I hadn't even given that one any thought to be quite frank.

"Well, I'm not too sure if my family will be expecting anything from us in that matter. It will probably be strange spending a week with my family without kissing. I know my aunt, she'll be the first one to get suspicious."

"So I have to kiss you." Simon says. It takes everything in me not to fucking faint. I want it so bad, even if Simon will kill me afterwards.

I do my best to stop Simon from going off. "We can try to avoid it for as long as possible, there is a chance that we might get away without kissing." _I'll make sure that doesn't happen._ My brain screams. "I've never kissed anyone before though, my aunt Fiona will only take a second to pick up on that. I don't know what the fuck we're going to do."

I can see Simon gritting his teeth beside me, and it's pretty easy to see the anger swirling around his brain.

"Snow," I say. He looks over at me briefly. "Thanks for trying. For not yelling at me."

He doesn't respond to that either. Guess he really meant it when he said he was too drained to argue.

"Pull over." He points to a spot on the side of the road and I give him a questioning look. "Just fucking do it." And I do. There isn't a single car on the road, both due to the time of day and the fact that not many people live up here.

I put the car in park and turn around so I'm looking at Simon. I can still make out his jaw moving, teeth probably grinding together in an attempt at suppressing his anger.

"What the fuck, Snow? Is something wrong?" He rolls his eyes at me, sighing before slumping back down in to his seat.

"Baz, you just said you haven't kissed anyone. The last shit I need is your aunt figuring out this master plan of yours." I only nod. I'm not sure where Snow is intending to go with this, so I don't say anything in response. A silent invitation for him to continue. Simon puts a hand over his face and lets out an exasperated sigh before turning to face me completely.

"I really didn't want to have to do this shit, Baz." Simon starts. "But the last thing I need is your family fucking me over when they find out we aren't really dating."

I don't dare breathe when Simon forcefully grabs my jaw, turning my head so I'm looking directly into his eyes.

"Kiss me, Baz."

 **Simon**

I had to do it. Believe me, the _second last_ thing I want to be doing at the moment is kissing my sworn enemy. The _last_ thing I want is to be thrown to the vampires by Baz's dad, if he isn't a vampire himself anyways.

So I figured a kiss isn't the end of the world, even if it means with Baz. I'll have that diary in no time anyways. It won't take much before I'm out of that mansion, Baz's plotting revealed to me.

I realize I'm still holding Baz's jaw. He hasn't said a word since I told him to kiss me. Baz's grey eyes are wide, searching my gaze for the lies. He's looking like a cornered animal.

"Are you really going to start up something about how you don't want to kiss me, Baz? Because I don't want to be doing this either. Just keep in mind that _you_ roped _me_ into this. Not the other way around. So just fucking do it. If your that caught up on hating me then close your eyes and imagine it's that boy you like." _That boy you love._ I almost say. But Baz can't know about the diary just yet.

 **Baz**

My heart is pounding harder than it ever has in my life. I keep telling myself that I've wanted this for far too long to be nervous. That this kiss will mean nothing to either of us.

Simon removes his grasp on my jaw when he notices me leaning in. All I can hear is my heart beating in my ears. I notice Simon close his eyes as I get closer, so I do the same. He then snakes both of his hands around my neck, probably to steady himself, for fear of falling into my seat.

Before I can process what is going on, my lips are pressed to Simon's. His lips are hot against mine, I figure that it's only because I'm a vampire that nearly freezes to death every day. It hits me that I'm not sure what to do after this, so I pull away.

I just kissed Simon Snow, and I'm so fucking in love, it hurts.

"Baz," Simon says. "Move your jaw a little bit. Watch me." He grabs my hand, and I can only pray that Simon doesn't feel my pulse racing in my fingertips. I snap back to reality when Simon places my hand on his jaw, moving his own hands back to their previous place around my neck.

We're leaning into each other again before I can think about it. When Simon locks his lips onto mine for the second time in a span of two minutes, I nearly go into cardiac arrest. I'll do my best to keep it together for as long as I can.

It doesn't take me long to pick up on the feeling of Simon's lips moving against mine. Then I understand what he was talking about. He's doing this nice thing with his jaw, I can feel it where my hand rests on his own jawline. _My lips can feel it too._

Then I try to mimic his jaw movements. It's a little hard for my brain to function when Simon Snow is kissing me, but I manage what I can only hope is a good attempt at what Simon told me to do. The instructions _move your jaw a little bit,_ aren't exactly what one would call descriptive.

I lose my shit when Simon moves one of his hands to my hair, running it through the thick black strands closest to my scalp. I practically purr into Simon's mouth, and his only response is a slight smile I can feel playing on his lips. _Two can play at this game_. I think.

My hand strays to his ruddy bronze curls. I've wanted this for _far_ to long. Simon gasps when I tug on a curl lightly and I realize just how satisfying it must've been for him to get a reaction out of me.

We must be kissing for a good minute or two before Simon breaks away, the both of us gasping for breath.

"Crowley," He says. "You picked up fast. I thought we'd have to be doing this for a while since it's me your kissing. Figured you'd be caught up on the fact that you hate me." Simon smirks and moves to punch my shoulder. "Guess it wasn't too hard when you're imagining that boy you told me you liked."

Simon must notice the rising blush on my neck. I can feel it. "I won't prod you for details, but I can only guess whether it's Dev, or your other best mate, Niall. I _almost_ feel bad for you, those two seem straight as a rod."

If only he knew who this 'crush' was. He'd be running for the hills.

"It's something like that." I mumble, taking the car back on to the road. A glance to the side reveals Simon still smirking.

"I'm surprised we're not fighting yet. I mean, you definitely seemed to enjoy that."

I can't help myself anymore, it's become second nature to defend myself.

"Mm, you seemed to be having some fun yourself, Snow." I'll never be able to forget the feel of Simon's hands running through my hair. That and the kiss in general, both burned in to my mind.

He only snorts as we drive in silence for a few more minutes.

 **Simon**

I don't even want to admit it to myself, but Baz really isn't a bad kisser, he's actually quite good for his first time. Makes me wonder if he's snogged a guy and too embarrassed to tell me. I guess we're not on the friendliest terms, and something like that really isn't my business anyhow.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not about to make friends with Baz during this trip anyways. I have to admit though, this car ride has made me hate Baz just a little bit less.

So as the Pitch mansion comes into view, I start to wonder if maybe Baz and I can continue on good terms for a week. Or until I open up his diary.

But it's nice to have a little bit of hope that things might not turn out so bad. I risk a glance at Baz and I _almost_ feel bad about how nervous he looks.

And just because this isn't about plotting or mocking, because Baz clearly loves his family. Because no one should have to worry about their sexuality, I squeeze Baz's shoulder reassuringly.

"We'll get through this together, Baz."


	5. Family Love

**Simon**

I didn't think think the Pitch mansion would be a _mansion_. This is a damn big mansion if I do say so myself.

Baz pulls in to the very large driveway, and I give myself a moment to admire the place. The lawn is filled with freshly cut shrubbery and a variety of multicoloured flowers. Two grey gargoyles lay on either side of the doorway. Which is also huge.

"Just wait in the car while I- er, make things clear." I can sense how nervous Baz is, so I don't bother with replying. My eyes follow Baz as he opens the car door and trudges up the driveway. I continue watching until a man and woman appear on the other side of the door.

Malcolm Grimm and Fiona Pitch. Baz's father and aunt

I can't hear anything being said, so I slump down into my chair, enjoying what is likely to be the last bit of silence I'll get for a while.

 **Baz**

My heart is nothing short of beating out of my chest as I walk up the familiar Pitch mansion steps. I'm beyond scared of what my father will think. I have more than a little hope that Fiona won't care. Crowley knows she's probably suspected since I was eight.

When Fiona opens the door, I allow myself to breathe a little sigh of relief. She hugs me, and I happily wrap my arms around her. Then I notice my father standing behind Fiona, and the nerves come right back. He's smiling too, and moves to give me a hug as well.

"How's my boy?" Father ruffles my hair as he pulls me to his chest, kissing my brow. I can't help but sink into the touch, I've missed home and getting to see everyone again makes me feel like a kid again.

"I'm good father." I say. I wouldn't be lying if it weren't for the alarmingly handsome boy sitting in the passenger seat of my car. Pulling away, I notice both Fiona and father's eyes stray to the concrete behind me, obviously searching for this other person I was expected to bring home.

"Um," Let's get this over with. "Before you ask, I did bring someone home, they're in the car. I told them to wait there so I could come see you guys first."

My father smiles and puts a hand on my shoulder. "What's her name, son?" I look to Fiona, because that's the only thing that'll calm me down even slightly.

"I'm proud of you, Baz. I'm surprised it took a handsome one like you this long to start a relationship." Thank Crowley Fiona didn't specify that this _someone_ had to be female.

When I don't say anything, Fiona steps closer to me and grabs my hands. "Your shaking, Baz. Don't be nervous. We love you." I fight back the urge to cry. I was damn close, let me tell you. The last thing I want is for my father to be ashamed of me.

"It's a boy." I mutter. I can tell Fiona picks up on what I've said when she pulls my head to her chest, letting me hide my face from the world for a few moments. I become painfully aware of how much I'm shaking, hoping and praying that my father hadn't heard that.

"What is it?" I'm practically clinging to Fiona as my father's voice reaches me. Fiona is petting my hair like only a mother would.

"You can tell him, Baz. Do you want me to tell him?" I don't reply, letting her make the assumption that was a _yes_ , so she speaks the same words I did.

"It's a boy, Malcolm. He's this pent up about the person in the car being a boy." I can't bring myself to look at the expression on my father's face. The silence is answer enough for me. Fiona doesn't let go of me, and I'm so, _so_ grateful for that bit of reassurance.

After a few more painfully long seconds of silence, I force myself to meet my father's eyes. I can tell he's trying to think of something to say. "So, you like boys?" He says it slowly, as if feeling the words on his tongue. Carefully, as if something might break.

I nod, finding that my voice fails me. "I'm sorry." I whisper. All I can think about is how much I love my family. "I- I didn't know how to tell you. I wasn't going to string a girl along because you expected me to bring someone home. I like boys, father. I figured this was the best way to tell you."

My jaw is aching trying to hold back the tears. I know if I let a few escape, there will be no stopping the rest from pouring out. I can't let my father see me cry, especially not about this.

I can't read his expression, but after a few seconds of searching his gaze I force myself to look away, my nerves still haven't calmed down. "Bring him in, son." I can tell my father isn't exactly content just by the tone of his voice. _He's trying_ though, and that's more than I could've hoped for.

I make my way back to the car, walking at a noticeably slower pace than usual for me. I'm fucking scared for this. My father and Fiona aren't as invested in the whole 'Mage' and 'Mage's heir' thing, thank crowley for that. They'll recognize Simon no doubt.

I can only hope that Simon isn't what they're caught up on. I didn't want to have to drag him into my shitty problems, although he _is_ the main reason for all of those problems. I open the passenger side door for Simon, acting like the gentleman I can only hope to be.

As the door swings open, Simon takes a moment to search my gaze. I can only stare back. Simon started the staring, that makes it acceptable for me to do the same.

"Everything okay?" He whispers. Simon's question nearly brings me to my knees, the damn boy really doesn't know what he does to me on a daily basis, let alone when he puts aside the hate and shows even a _smidge_ of compassion.

Suddenly I realize I've been staring at Simon, my hand still on the door handle. Embarrassed, I fix my gaze on the gravel at my feet. "I've been better but, thanks Simon, thanks a lot for asking."

Simon punches me in the gut just hard enough to hurt. "Shit!" I seeth. "What was that for?"

"You're making it kinda hard to hate you when you get all soft like that, Baz." I'm shocked enough that it takes me a minute to muster up a response. Before I can say anything, Simon gets out of the car and shoves me into the seat.

"Wait here." He says. I don't know what the fuck he's about to do, so I lunge for him, locking my hand around his wrist.

"I'm trying to fucking help you, idiot!" Simon whisper-yells. I'm so glad the garage is sparing my aunt the sight of this.

 **Simon**

With a significantly more forceful tug I'm able to break free of Baz's grasp. "This is the last time I try to help you," I mutter, walking up the steps to where Fiona and Malcolm stand.

Fiona's eyes widen at the sight of me, and I give her a shy smile. I'm not nervous in the slightest. If I was even a little, I sure as hell wouldn't be doing what I'm about to do for Baz. There's nothing on the line for me here, these problems aren't really mine. I've got nothing to be nervous about.

I figured that with the diary and all, the least I could do is help Baz out a bit with his personal life. To my surprise, Malcolm hesitantly offers his hand to me, and I clasp his in mine, shaking it.

"Nice to meet you, Simon." He says. It doesn't take a psychic to read the emotions playing on Malcolm's face right now. It certainly isn't any emotion that correlates with _happiness._ Even knowing that, this whole confrontation is definitely going a lot better than I could've imagined. I won't even deny it, a little part of me hopes that Baz is thinking the same.

Fiona shakes my hand as well. "I didn't think our boy would be your type, Simon." She smiles at me, and I'm surprised to notice that it is genuine. I can see why Baz loves his family in this moment.

"Would it be alright if I took a moment to speak with Baz in the car? If it's alright with you two at least. He's really nervous about bringing a boy home, and as his boyfriend it's a little hard seeing him worried like this. I can tell he loves the both of you, he was worried about what you'd think."

Fiona crosses her ankles over each other, leaning to one side. "Oh god, yeah- yeah Simon. Do what you need to do. Come inside when you're ready."

Piece of cake. I want to give Baz a little bit of reassurance before he'll have to face his family again. I walk down the driveway, heading in to the car. I open the driver's side door and slide in next to where Baz is seated.

He looks at me expectantly, like a dog waiting for a treat- in a nervous kind of way."I talked to your family. They're heading inside right now. I convinced them that we can go in when we're ready. I just wanted to talk to you before you have to face them again."

"Crowley Simon," Baz covers his face with his palm. "Can't you yell at me inside!"

"I'm not going to fucking yell at you." That got Baz's attention. He visibly perks up and I know I've got his attention in full. I lower my tone to something just above a whisper.

"Baz, you deserve to know that no matter what your dad thinks of you after this trip, you have people who love you. You're not alone. Don't get me wrong- I'm not trying to get all soft with you right now, I'm really not. I can't help but hurt a little bit at the fact that you being gay is enough to cause you this much distress. I fucking hate that the world is this way. It sucks, goddamnit!"

I turn my head to glance at Baz. His hands are draped across his lap, fumbling with anything that'll keep them occupied. Baz's head is angled downwards, his hair draped across his face like a curtain. "Baz…" I say.

He turns his head to look out the window opposite me, and I can only make the assumption that Baz is close to tears. I lean over the centre console of the car and rest my hand on Baz's shoulder. He shifts his head just enough to glance in my general direction.

We stay like this for what must have been a minute. With Baz turned away from me, glancing out the window, my hand resting on his shoulder. I don't know what comes over me. Maybe it's the thought that Baz might be crying. Holding back tears no doubt.

I reach my other arm out and pull Baz towards me until I've got both arms wrapped around him. It only takes a second before Baz snakes his arms around me too. I feel him visibly relax into the embrace. I'm glad I can be of some reassurance.

I notice that Baz's breathing has grown erratic. I pet his hair in slow strokes. "You can cry, Baz," I whisper. "It's only me. You can cry in front of me."

Baz sniffles, only pulls himself closer to me, burying his face in the crook of my neck. "It's okay, It's okay," I repeat, still stroking his hair. It hits me how strange what we're doing must be. Two sworn enemies hugging, one comforting the other. But lay it out for myself.

I don't give a damn. No one's watching, and who would I be to leave Baz alone like this. "You don't have to hold back," I whisper.

Baz's grip around me tightens slightly as he continues to try and keep in the tears that must be threatening to spill over, but to my own surprise, they never do.

I let Baz keep his arms around me, as tightly as he wants. It seems to be helping him in some way. His breath has returned to normal and he's noticeably calmer, but I don't let go. I'll let Baz decide when he's okay.

"You okay?" I breathe. There are a few seconds of silence before Baz pulls his head from my neck, looking at the floor and nods. With his gaze lingering on anything but my eyes, I move my hand up to his face and thread my hand through his hair once.

"You're okay, Baz. I'm here." He leans into the touch, although I only do it once. The Baz _smiles._ It's a shy smile, and he's still looking at me, but it makes me crack a little grin as well. I place my hand overtop of his and squeeze lightly.

"You ready to go inside now?" He nods, so I make a move to open the door, but I'm stopped when Baz's hand grabs my forearm. I shift and turn around to face him.

"Thank you, Simon. Everything you said, it really helped. You didn't have to do any of that," Baz's eyes stray once again away from my gaze. "I really appreciate everything you've done for me on this trip, especially since it has barely begun. So um, thanks a lot."

I squeeze Baz's knee in a silent _I know_ gesture before making a move to leave the car.

Now the real show begins.


	6. Keep your enemies closer

**Baz**

I didn't want to have to let Simon go, _ever._ When he hugged me in the car, I wasn't sure I was breathing. It's so unlike Simon to feel obligated to make _me_ of all people feel better. I'm so thankful for everything he did, whatever he said that made my family give me a couple more minutes to prepare.

Simon just got out of the car and grabbed his bags from the trunk. He's more ready than I am. I open the passenger side door and make my way to the back of the car. That short talk could've been the last time my father would have accepted me. Father didn't seem too upset when I talked to him, thought I wouldn't pass his expression for anything particularly _giddy._

The front door to the mansion is left open a tad from when Simon previously entered the foyer. I push the door open farther, just enough for me to slip inside without a sound, kicking the door shut with my foot. I drop my bags at my feet and look up to meet Simon's gaze.

"Alright, where do I bring my stuff?" Simon says. I can only wait for him to go off on me, but I think it's safe to assume that Simon will wait until we're away from my family's eyes.

"Make sure you've got everything, then we can head up to my room. Follow me." Simon slings his bag over one shoulder and obliges, his soft feet padding along the floor behind me.

I notice Fiona smirking at me as Simon and I make our way up the steps, she gives me a quick wink and a thumbs up before disappearing back into another room. We're less than two minutes in and Fiona has already managed to find a way to embarass me.

"We're here," I say, stopping in front of the doorway to the room I haven't seen in a couple months. I'm suddenly self conscious of how things are left in there, crowley knows it'll look like world war three in there. The last time leaving my room a couple months back, I wasn't aware I'd be returning with a complete and utter heartthrob standing at my door.

I glance back at Simon who's staring into the very much open door, ruddy curls falling into his eyes. I have to fight the urge to tuck them behind his ear.

 _We've been here for fucking five minutes and I'm already having alarming thoughts about Simon. What the fucking shit Baz. Get your shit together._

"Can I enter or do you have to hide some _things_ before I do?" I'm having a hard time trying to pinpoint exactly what Simon was just implying, but I decide to ignore it. I drop my bags in the hallway and put my hands on either side of the doorframe, peeking inside and giving my room a quick scan before deeming the conditions acceptable.

Thank crowley I made cleaning a priority. I'm not sure what the hell possessed me to clean, but that's besides the point. "Yeah, everything's fine, you can come in, make yourself comfy."

Simon brushes past me and plops his bag beside the little couch I have facing my fireplace. Let me tell you, being a vampire, especially during the winter, it gets fucking _cold_ in here. That fireplace is heaven on earth.

Simon throws himself on to the couch and looks at the ceiling as I shuffle around the room, talking things out of my suitcase. I start to dig through my bag, tossing clothes onto my bed, until I come across a smidge of light blue near the bottom.

 _Shit._ I mouth. With a quick glance in the general direction of the couch, It's safe to assume Simon is caught up in his own little world of wanting to murder me, so I leave him to it.

I'm crouched beside my bed frame, and any movement from me would get Simon to look at what I'm doing, he's still lying on the couch soundlessly. There isn't really anywhere to hide this without Simon picking up on what I'm doing, so me being the smartass I am, stuffs the diary under my mattress, just like at Watford. Funny.

"Hey, Baz," Simon says. I admit, I may have flinched slightly, but only because he nearly caught me. I get up and walk over to the couch before perching myself on one of the armrests next to Simon.

"You going to go talk to your family now?" There's no malice in Simon's voice, but I can tell that the little bit of kindness he showed me back in the car is gone. The thought of talking to my father snaps me back in to reality.

"Yeah. Try not to touch my shit while I'm gone though. Actually, you can get ready for dinner soon, Fiona and my father will start cooking in a little bit." I walk over to the door and turn the handle, opening it just enough to be able to squeeze through. "Alright, I'm off."

With one last look at Simon, he's returned to the same position draped across the sofa, his head resting against the headboard, eyes on the ceiling.

 **Simon**

I give it a good minute or so after Baz leaves the room, and with a few frequent glances at the door I make the assumption that I'm good to go.

I won't say that Baz has shown any signs of plotting during the long car ride, he hasn't. I don't even want to admit it to myself, but Baz has been nothing but kind to me if were going on today alone.

With that, I started to realize that although everything he's going through right now, everything with sexual orientation and family, is very much _real,_ I don't want to let all of that get in the way of my plan to figure out what Baz has been plotting for years.

I won't let Baz think I'm letting my guard down. After another quick glance at the door, I spring to my feet and gravitate towards where Baz's bags have been left on the floor. There's only two, and I decide to begin my search with the bigger one first. It seems likely he'd want the largest bag to stuff his diary in.

I rummage through the few things that are still left in the bag. There isn't much that still is in here, and after a bit of looking I realize that the diary is most definitely not in here.

Onto the next bag. It's only slightly smaller in size, still a good place to have a diary hidden at the bottom of. To my own dismay, in a good ten seconds I realize that the diary isn't here either. "Shit." I mutter.

I punch the mattress in defeat. Of course nothing goes my way. The moment I find that damn blue book, I'll tell Baz I have it and threaten to break the lock. My heart stops for a second. My hand rests on the spot where I'd just punched the mattress.

From where I lay on the couch a few minutes ago, I could tell Baz wasn't moving around much. This idiot must have figured I wouldn't look here. I internally scold myself. _Baz still doesn't know I know this exists. He doesn't need a good hiding place._

I wedge my hand underneath the mattress, and with a few hand movements I hit something.

 _Bingo._

The second I spot that wondrous baby blue, I know I've won. Everything I've been searching for, every scheme and plan that Baz has been brewing over the past few years, it's all in here.

I found my gateway out of this damn house, and all in a few minutes time. Baz may have the key, crowley knows where that's at, but I figure that doesn't matter anymore. It's all over now.

Picking up the diary, I shuffle back to the couch and plop down once again. Waiting for Baz to return. Savouring the warmth of the fire, the fire that Baz will feel inside once he realizes that I've outsmarted him for good.

It's time to put an end to Baz Pitch


	7. Like Father like Son

**Baz**

Simon is waiting in my bedroom while I go looking for father and Fiona, so the three of us can talk. I'm still as nervous as ever, but I have to believe that maybe there's a chance this could go well.

I make my way back down the staircase and walk towards the kitchen, where I can make out father and Fiona speaking.

As I continue in their direction, it becomes easier to make out some of what they're saying.

"-I'm really trying, Fiona. I don't know what to do…" Father.

Silence for a while. I realize that Fiona and father are talking about me. The two of them are seated at the kitchen table across from each other, coffee mugs in hand. I lean back against the wall outside of the kitchen, just close enough to be able to hear them, far enough away that I won't get caught.

"Nothing has changed with him, Malcolm. He's still your son. You'll love him no matter who he wants to be with in life." Fiona is as calm as ever.

Then the familiar feel of stinging in my eyes comes on, and my teeth begin to grind together in attempt at stopping myself from crying. I can already tell that this conversation is going to take a turn for the worst.

More than anything, I'm worried about what my father will say about me.

' _I'm really trying Fiona, I don't know what to do…'_ I squeeze my eyelids shut and lean my head against the wall, waiting for someone to say something, _anything._

"I know- I just, it's a bit confusing for me. I guess I never thought that Baz would be one to go in _that_ sort of direction. Don't get me wrong, I love Baz, he's my boy, Fiona. I'm just new to all of this, uh, liking _boys_ kind of thing. I don't know how to deal with it."

I can't hold back anymore when I hear my father sniffle, an evident sign that he's near tears because of me.

That's enough to start my own tears. I pinch my arm, twisting the skin a little bit in attempt at trying to focus on the pain, trying to quiet the sound of my crying.

"Come on, Malcolm. He told you that he likes kissing boys, which means he always has. Which means he hasn't changed one bit. He's the same Baz you've always loved and held in your arms as a child. Don't cry because of this shit."

"I'm not." The tone of father's voice tells me he's lying. I dig the heels of my hand into my eyes, squeezing them shut.

I don't know why I'm still listening. I should go _,_ I should _go._ I need to leave and get somewhere where I can be alone and let everything out. I should tell Simon to leave. I feel bad for making him a part of this.

I let out a sob that was trapped inside my chest when father calls me from the kitchen. "Baz..?" He says. I have to go right now. I can't let him see me like this. He and Fiona must have picked up on my crying.

I get up and start running for the stairs.

As I make my way up the staircase, I glance down to the main floor only to meet my father's stare. He looks at me with a certain softness in his eyes and covers his mouth with a shaking hand. I resume my sobbing when a stray tear rolls down my father's face.

I run. Upstairs, to my room. No, not my room, Simon's in there. I can't go into the bedrooms, father might find me.

My father, the face of both stone and of love in my life, crying because of _me._ In all of my years living under this roof, that's a sight I've never seen. It's slightly jarring to know that my father could keep a stern face through some really tough times, but something as simple as me liking boys is enough to make him crack.

Crying probably makes me look small, weak and unsure. I'm not foolish, I know father was crying only because of how much love he has for me. The thought comforts me in a way, that he'd let me see something break in him because of that love.

I realize that I've been wandering the hallways on the bedroom floor, and soon enough my legs give out leaving me to sit leaning against the hallways red wallpaper.

Father loves me. Fiona loves me. Mordelia loves me. I've got an entire family right here, that I know I can run to whenever I need to, and I know that I' be greeted with only open arms every single time.

So why does the fact that I'd seen that stray tear run down my father's face, although it may be out of love, cause sobs to overtake my body? My body has a mind of its own, so I simply let go of my thoughts and give in to the trembling, the shuddering, the sobbing.

 _Please crowley give me a moments peace, please don't let anyone find me, just for a moment._

I take in a shuddering breath, running a shaking hand through my hair.

 _And please, let father love me more than anything. Let him see me as the same Baz I still am._

 **Simon**

I don't know what the hell is going on or where the hell Baz is.

Pale yellow lamp light illuminates the room, casting shadows across the walls. I spend a moment pondering my situation while staring at the ceiling.

I decide to go out and make sure that everything is okay with Baz and his family. The diary can wait until Baz and I return to this room alone, so I hide it in an abnormally large decorative vase that I suspect hasn't been touched in a couple of years.

The bedroom door pushes open easily, and shuts behind me without a sound other than the soft _click_. With a couple of steps in the direction of the staircase, my thoughts are put on pause, the sound of what could only be Baz's sobs echoing through the empty hallway.

My heart cracks, he must be hiding from his family. Hiding from _me,_ and it takes me a minute to ponder what the right move to make right now is. Things must have gone to shit with Baz's father, if he got a chance to talk to him at all that is.

My feet unconsciously begin moving in the direction of Baz's sounds until I can make out his crouched form. He's sunken back against the wall with his head in his hands. The sight alone makes me want to cry right along beside him.

Before I realize what I'm doing, I've dropped to my knees soundlessly before Baz, and drawn his shaking form into myself, wrapping my arms around him in a tight, reassuring embrace.

Baz lets out a little whimper when he realizes what's happening. To my own dismay, the first thing to pop into my head was that it sounded _cute._ Baz is cute? I chew at the inside of my cheek, forcing the thought out of my head as I squeeze Baz to me tighter.

Suddenly I'm the one leaning back against the wall, and I open my legs leaving room for him to settle in between that space, leaning into me. He does, and I sure as hell don't let go.

"Simon." Baz breathes into the crook of my neck. The utter intimacy in which Baz speaks my name triggers goosebumps along my arms. I wait for him to continue, but we embrace each other in silence, the sound of Baz breathing my name hanging in the air between us.

I swear to god, I don't know what comes over me, but Baz's face is still crumpled with the force of the silent tears streaming down his face. So I tuck a lock of his raven hair behind his ear and lean in to kiss Baz's forehead. It doesn't mean anything to me, but I figure for Baz it might, even coming from me.

Surprisingly, Baz tenses at the sudden action, but not long after, relaxes into the feel of my lips brushing his temple. It doesn't bother me, the sudden closeness, even if it is Baz. I don't feel anything, or mean anything by it, but if it'll help Baz in his time of need I'm willing to do it. I notice he's still crying with almost as much force as when I'd first found him in the hallway.

"Baz," I murmur, my lips still brushing against the skin on his temple. His crying temporarily quiets down, a silent invitation for me to speak. The only light reaching us is peeking through the bottom of Baz's bedroom door.

"Baz, I'm not going to prod you for details, whatever happened isn't my business. What I do know is that your father is five types of fool if he said anything that made you like this. If he disproved of who you like to kiss."

I drag my thumb along Baz's jawline and kiss his brow for emphasis. He melts into me, and a certain warmth makes its way through my body at the feel of Baz sinking in to my arms.

How could I use the diary against Baz when he's like this? Who would I be to stab him in the back after his family no doubt already has?

And for a moment, Baz so comfortable in my arms, I allow myself to consider the thought that I am the boy Baz wrote about. Maybe he's in love with me.

Why am I thinking about that? Is it because I want it to be true? I snap back into reality suddenly, and realize Baz's head is resting on my chest, his breathing steady. He's stopped his crying. Baz looks peaceful.

Resting my chin atop Baz's head, I let my eyes drift shut, the silence is surprisingly comfortable. The sounds of Baz's now peaceful breathing overtake my mind, and I'm left with one thought.

Maybe things aren't so bad.


	8. Heartfelt

**Baz**

It feels like home. When Simon holds me, I feel safe. So I let myself lean into his chest, and my eyes drift shut without a second thought. The steady beat of Simon's heart is enough to have me fall asleep right here with him.

I bury my head in the crook of his neck when Simon begins to run his fingers through my hair. It takes everything in me to keep my mouth shut, so I bite my tongue in attempt at keeping the words from spilling out.

 _I love you._

In this very moment, I allow the thought that if I were to say it, Simon wouldn't kill me. He might not even be entirely appalled by the thought of his enemy loving him.

The overwhelming need to say _something_ is invading my mind, my body itching with the constant longing to touch Simon, my hands now wrapped around him, clinging to Simon's life as if I were drowning.

So I say something.

"I never hated you, Simon." I murmur. My tone is barely above a whisper, but the words are very much out for him to hear.

"What?" Simon breathes, the faint feel of his lips ghosting across my scalp my only comfort.

"I never hated you," I reply. "I guess it's the fact that we're enemies, that we were thrown into this life, this hate. It was never there for me, that burning hatred that I know I'm supposed to feel towards you, there's no reason for me to _want_ to kill you, Simon. That's what I mean."

A few breaths pass by in sheer quiet. I peel myself away from Simon just enough to meet his eyes, silence filling the hallway like the plague.

Both his hands find their way to the sides of my face, and for a split second, I think he's going to kiss me. I don't let myself linger on that thought, and my heart skips a beat when Simon visibly _whimpers_ , burying his face to my chest.

So now I hold him. I let Simon shake, completely oblivious to what sort of emotions must be swirling around in that beautiful head of his.

My fingers are threaded through Simon's bronze curls as he begins shaking his head. "You don't mean that." It was a whisper, and I wait expectantly for Simon to look up at me, to give me any clues as to what he's thinking.

I should've known this would happen. That Simon wouldn't believe me. For all I know, Simon is shaking with rage right now, not fear or happiness or disbelief.

"I mean it, Simon." I steady my voice, doing my best to be stern. Because I know that no matter what Simon thinks, it will always be true.

 **Simon**

I'm shocked into silence, Baz cradling my head to his chest. It's ironic how quickly the tables can turn with the two of us. _Baz never hated me?_

I can't describe the feeling that came over me hearing those words from my enemy. The first thing that came to my mind was, _do I really hate Baz?_

Then an eerie calm washed over me, like I'd known Baz would say something of the sort, like I knew that the answer to my previous internal questioning was no. No, I never really hated Baz.

It feels nice, nice to have a sense of peace between the two of us. The feeling of quiet calm, Baz and I holding each other. It's something so foreign to the both of us that I'm not so sure I like it.

Maybe I do. Maybe I don't have to think about if I really ever hated Baz right now, but I know I can allow myself one thing, something that has been lurking in the back of my mind for multiple years.

I don't want to hate Baz.

Peering up at the raven haired boy, a thought hits me harder than a ton of bricks. Just like that my sense of calm is gone, and my pulse jumps slightly. I don't make a move to leave though, I hardly move at all, letting the thought sink in slowly.

I have a crush on Baz. He's my sworn enemy and rival. But that's not what I'm dwelling on any longer. The fact that he's my enemy hardly matters to me in this moment. I'm feeling slightly panicky, my fingers itching with the need to hold onto something. I squeeze Baz tighter.

I've never liked boys before. Maybe I have, actually. With everything happening back at Watford, magic and the Mage and Baz, I guess that I didn't really take into account my true feelings or who I wanted to kiss.

Does that make me gay? It can't, because I was dating Agatha and I'm almost certain I liked her. I know for sure that whatever I'm feeling for Baz in this moment, it's a feeling that I've never felt for Agatha, or anyone at all for that matter.

I don't need a label for who I am. All I know is that I like Baz. He doesn't like me, and I probably shouldn't like him. Not in the way I do at least. But Baz is gay, I know that much, so I don't have to worry about him being disgusted if he were to ever find out about this little crush.

I'm scared. The feeling of wanting to touch someone, to do beautiful, awful things to them is something that I'm going to have to get used to. Especially since I'm going to be on this trip with Baz for another week.

My eyes roam over Baz's face once again, and I allow my gaze to linger. His eyes are shut and his breathing steady, so my staring won't be a problem.

Like these sudden feelings aren't enough, when giving myself a moment to accept that I do in fact like this boy that's holding me, I realize that he's truly beautiful.

Everything about Baz, too. The way his hair falls in dark waves over his brow, the way I know his grey eyes sparkle in the morning light.

Then I start to really panic. What if all of Baz's affection towards me during this trip was an act? Maybe it was all part of his plotting, getting me to trust him even a little bit more, getting me to let my guard down.

It damn worked. Now all I'm left with are alarming thoughts about Baz and a little blue book.

"Baz," I start. His eyes drift open and I can only hope that my tone doesn't give away how panicked I'm feeling. "Let's go talk in your room."


	9. The Power of Trust

**Baz**

Simon suggests that we move to my room to talk- which I admit was probably a great idea, considering that I was hiding from my father before he came along and made everything just a little bit better.

Once Simon walks in to my room, I shut the door behind us and plop down on my king size bed. Just like that the past hour or so comes rushing back to me, what my father said that brought me to tears, that got me to come running for my room. Wanting to hide my emotions from Simon.

He must sense whatever the hell kind of emotions I'm radiating, because Simon nearly lunges for me. This time I'm ready with open arms when Simon wraps his around my back. Through all the hell I've been through today, I'd argue that the good outweighs it.

All thanks to this boy right here.

"Baz?" He says, and I snap back to reality. I still can't wrap my head around all of the free hugs I've received from Simon today. Why he feels the need to comfort me through my hard times.

When Simon lets go of me to study my face, I'm painfully aware of the emptiness I've always felt when he isn't holding me. A day like this with him has already fucked up my sense of loneliness.

"Baz?" Simon asks again, looking a little bit concerned. He brings one of his hands up to my face, his face all the question I need. "Hey, Baz, don't cry again."

My hand flies up to my cheek. The realization hits me that I wasn't really crying. _Yet._ I must've started tearing up at the thought of my father, along with Simon and his unnecessary kindness. I wipe at my eyes anyways, applying some pressure in order to keep the tears at bay.

I know I'll be fine now. Simon will be wondering about my spectacle in the hallway, why I happened to break down away from any prying eyes.

"Baz, if you want to talk about anything, I'm here. Anything that could make you break like that probably shouldn't be kept to yourself for you to dwell on. So if your willing to let it out, go ahead."

I run a hand through my hair, tugging at the knots. Would Simon judge me if I told him about what father said? The events of this trip so far would lead me to the conclusion that no, he wouldn't.

Just the idea of telling anyone about my problems scares me. I know Simon is right though, it's no good for me to keep everything inside, and telling someone would probably help a whole lot. Right now I've got no one but him to talk to.

"Alright, if you're not feeling up to talking, I'll tell you this, hopefully it'll make you feel better." Simon says, and I can't help the curiosity that shows as I wait for him to continue.

"Before I start, you should know this is kinda embarrassing-"

Simon is cut off by the sound of my laughing. It isn't the mocking kind. I've let a few tears slip, so I'm laughing softly and quietly crying at once. Only because whatever Simon is about to tell me can't be more humiliating than what my father has said about me.

Simon gives me what I can only assume is a pitying look, but goes on to tell me whatever it is he thinks will outshine my grief.

"Remember that day I stormed into our room and locked myself in the bathroom sobbing?" I nod, and I can't stop the shy smile that spreads across my face. Not mocking, I'm just grateful, grateful that Simon has even considered sharing something like this with me.

He shares a withering smile with me, and the look makes me feel just a little better.

"Well, I broke down like that because Agatha ended it with me." Simon's voice trails off at the end, and we sit there in silence for a while. I feel like even more of a dick than that very day, where I mocked Simon for crying.

Kind of ironic if you look at how things turned out now.

"Simon," I start. He turns his head to look at me. "I'm sorry I mocked you. I really don't mean many of those insults. If you take what I said back in the hallway, where I said I never really hated you, you'll know those were all just empty insults."

It's getting harder and harder for me to be able to read Simon, every time he looks at me I find it even more difficult to piece together what he's feeling.

"That means a lot, Baz. I can't say the same for myself, though. I'm not sure what I meant with some of my insults to you, but I'm sorry for them."

I mutter a near silent _thanks for telling me that_ before preparing my explanation. Because that's what this is now. I'm not _sharing_ this with Simon, I'm explaining to him why I was found sobbing alone in the hallway.

"So," I start, taking in a long breath to steady myself. Simon seems to sense my distress, because he sets one of his hands overtop my tense shoulder. "I went down to the kitchen to speak with father, and, and-"

Suddenly the air seems thicker, making it harder to breathe. Panic sets in and my chest moves quicker with unsteady breaths. I'm dizzy, drowning, falling-

"Hey, Baz," Simon's voice cuts through the panic just for a second, just long enough that I'm able to come back to myself. I grab on to him, practically melting into Simon's chest until I can breathe easy.

 **Simon**

After years of living with the confident, cocky, _handsome_ Baz, I thought I had a pretty clear image of what goes on in his head. Or at least what he might be feeling.

Funny how years of seeing and believing that image of Baz can come crumbling down in a few days. I've seen him crack, crumble and hurt all kinds over these past couple of hours alone. It really makes me wonder if Baz has been hiding all of this pain.

Whatever the hell happened when Baz went to talk to his family, it must have been pretty bad considering the state he was in, crying in the hallway, and the state he's in now, shaking, breathing unsteady.

Baz gripped onto me, sank into my body in attempt to calm down. This past day certainly has brought us closer.

I've been struggling with my own mind during this trip. With the diary. My life has been surrounded by magic and the Mage and the idea that I'll have to kill Baz before he can kill me.

Regardless of whether or not Baz has been putting on an act for me this entire trip, I have a hard time believing he can fake that scene in the hallway. I don't want to have to hurt him more than he's already hurting by finding out everything he's been plotting, shoving it back at him.

I won't open Baz's diary because of him, I'll open it because of Watford, because I'm the chosen one. But for now, there is only Baz and I, me and Baz. I realize it has always been that way.

I glance down at my chest, where Baz's head rests, and realize his eyes are shut, his breathing back to normal. It looks as if he's sleeping, though he probably needs some time to cool down. I'll give Baz whatever time he needs.

It strikes me that Baz is beautiful even when he's sleeping. I don't know how I wasn't physically attracted to Baz before this trip, he doesn't even need to try to come of as extremely attractive.

Baz shifts against my chest, but doesn't open his eyes or make a move to get up from where he leans against me.

I allow myself to continue coming to terms with exactly _what_ I'm feeling for this boy.

I'm definitely feeling a physical attraction to Baz. Looking at him tells me that much alone. The way he's been looking at me with a certain softness has me melting every time.

Ever since realizing I've felt this attraction towards Baz, I've wanted to touch him. I'm not sure if that means I'm sexually attracted to Baz. That might be the same as physical attraction. I'm not too sure to be honest, but regardless, the constant _wanting_ I've started to feel is something so foreign to me. Something I've never felt with Agatha.

After thinking about it for a little bit, I think I might be emotionally attracted to Baz as well. The way he thinks is starting to stand out more and more to me. I want to talk to Baz, something I'd never imagine even thinking back at Watford.

That has to mean I'm both physically and emotionally attracted to the boy I'm holding to me right now. The wanting to kiss him confirms the physical attraction. The wanting to comfort him, wanting to hear him talk to me, confirms the emotional attraction.

That leaves one question echoing through my head. One thing I'm scared to ask myself, because I know the answer will determine too much.

 _Could I imagine being with Baz for the rest of my life?_


	10. Dancing with the devil

**Hey everyone! This chapter is a repost, so if you've already read chapter ten, it's the same just without song lyrics. I've been informed that the use of song lyrics may not be allowed, so I've removed them just incase. Now that I'm doing an opening note, I want to let everyone who has made it this far into the fic know that I appreciate you so much! All of you're comments have been so wonderful and motivating, you deserve to know that just clicking on this work has made me so so happy!**

 **with all of that, hope you enjoy the new chapter!**

 **Simon**

It's been a long, emotionally draining day for both Baz and I. Mostly him, though. I've finally come to terms with my feelings for Baz. They're strong, I could picture a future with him, -which is a really scary thing to think about.

I'm still holding on to Baz, he still hasn't finished telling me about what his father had said to him that caused his breakdown in the hallway.

I figure that's okay. If saying it out loud is going to make Baz upset again, I won't say anything. I won't push _him_ to say anything.

 _Opening the diary will make him upset, though._ My brain screams. I have to make a move sooner or later, the Mage will be counting on me to do _something_ against Baz. Though I can't imagine hurting him after seeing all that he's gone through.

Maybe if I don't get too attached to him over this trip, my feelings will go away. I can stop doubting myself and just _make a move._ I have to keep reminding myself that Baz is only showing kindness towards me because he doesn't want to have to spend a week in his own home like he's living in hell.

The only reason he's acting kind, is so I do too.

Baz takes in a particularly loud breath. It only sounds loud because of the overwhelming silence that has filled the room. The only reason I'm overly conscious of Baz's breathing is because his face is pressed against my shoulder blade.

Baz's next words are half a mumble, half an exhale, I barely catch what he says. " _Father says he doesn't know what to do about me."_

"Baz- oh, Baz. I-" It hits me that there isn't much I can say in response to that. Not much that can be said to comfort Baz after what he must have went through hearing that.

He doesn't make a move to lift his head from where it's now pressed to my chest.

"Baz. He said that to you?"

"He didn't say it _to me,_ " Baz starts. His voice is muffled by my shirt. "I overheard father and Fiona talking about me. That's when he said he doesn't know what to do about me."

Baz is shaking now, I can feel his lithe form trembling in every place that his body touches mine. All I do is wrap my arms around Baz's head and pray to crowley that he doesn't start crying.

I genuinely feel Baz's pain in this very moment. What it must feel like to have parents that love you, I will never be able to understand. What I can understand is what it would feel like to have those people, the ones who love you most in the world, say something hurtful about you.

Baz's is still shaking, but my shirt is completely dry. If Baz hasn't begun crying by now, he probably won't start anytime soon.

Right in this moment I wish I could tell Baz that he is loved. By me. I don't know if I love Baz in the romantic way yet. My heart stutters at the thought. I wish I could tell Baz that after seeing the real him, the raw him, there is no universe in which I would not love the person he is. I hope we can become good friends, then maybe Baz can love me back in a friendly way, too.

 _But you can't, Simon._ My mind screams. _What will the Mage think? What will Baz think when you reveal his plotting? What will you think when you realize all of the different ways Baz has planned to kill you?_

Just then there is a knock at the door. Baz shifts his head just enough to peer at the door frame. I glance over to the front of the room as well. The door pushes open just slightly, and a pair of female hands slide two plates of what must be our dinner into the room before shutting the door once again.

"Dinner." Baz sighs, peeling himself away from me.

"Do you usually eat in your room?" I ask. "Your family seems like the type to have long conversations over the dinner table. Together."

Baz scratches his head as he walks over to retrieve both plates from where they rest on the floor. "We do, yeah. I'm just going to assume that father felt bad about what he said."

"He knew you heard him?" I can't help the curiosity that creeps into my tone.

Baz nods grimly. "Either him or Fiona heard me start to cry, while I ran up the stairs, father and I met eyes. He saw me crying, and-"

Baz pauses to hand me a plate of what appears to be steak and grilled vegetables. Then he perches himself on the edge of the bed next to me.

"Then I," Baz hesitates for a moment, but I won't prod him. "Then I saw a tear roll down fathers cheek. He never cries." We both go silent. The rawness in which Baz spoke about his dad makes me ache for him.

"Baz, I don't have parents as you already know, so I can't even imagine the pain that you're going through after seeing and hearing what you did. I don't fucking care if you need to use me as your punching bag for a week, just don't let things get to you too much, okay?" My voice comes out a lot gentler than I intended it to, but Baz seems to appreciate what I've said.

"Thanks a lot, Simon."

We eat in silence. We spend the rest of the night in silence.

 **Baz**

I wake up with the sun in my eyes. It's a nice feeling to be back home, eliminating everything that has happened yesterday. Lifting my blankets off of myself, I glance over to where Simon is asleep on my bed. The least I could do was sleep on the couch after bringing him on this trip.

Entering the bathroom, I wash my face and change into my day clothes before walking down to the kitchen. I don't have to worry about dad, he usually goes out to run some errands in the morning. Crowley knows that Fiona's sleeping like the dead too.

I let the maids know that they can have some time off this morning. Cooking breakfast should clear my head a bit, and I'm not a terrible cook. Hopefully Fiona won't critique me too harshly when she wakes.

The mansion is big. It's a _mansion_ after all. So no one will wake up if I play some music while I cook. I plug my phone into the little speaker on the kitchen counter, and start to rummage through the fridge.

 **Simon**

I start down the stairs towards the sound of music. I figure it must be Baz. He isn't in his room. Maybe he already made up with his father? Seems unlikely based on the way Baz was acting yesterday.

I do a little stretch in the living room before walking into the kitchen, where Baz is singing along to his music, using his wooden spoon and spatula as drums along the countertop.

I can't help but smile at the sight. After a day of tears, it's nice to see Baz enjoying himself. He's not drumming loudly, and his black, bone straight strands of hair sway along with is head. Baz mumbles the lyrics just loud enough that I can make his voice out over the actual singer.

I try to put a name to the song, but it's not coming to me. I know I've heard it once or twice before, but not more than that. Of course Baz would listen to alternative music while cooking.

Only him.

I'm not sure how long I've been listening to Baz sing softly, but I'm mesmerized.

I can't help but let out a short chuckle at not only Baz's drum solo, but at the way the lyrics of the song nearly nailed everything that Baz is either going through, or has gone through.

Baz whirls around at the sound of my laugh, and immediately covers his face with a hand, groaning. "Fuck you, Snow."

"Oh I'm not making fun of you, I was very much enjoying the show, by the way." I smirk at Baz for emphasis.

He snorts. The drumming stops, but Baz continues to hum to the beat of the song while flipping what must be an omelette. I sit down at the counter, watching Baz as he works.

"What's this song called?" I ask. "I've heard it a few times."

Baz looks over his shoulder at me. "Since when do you care about alternative music?"

I shrug, and Baz glares at me. "Since now." I start. "Well, I never hated it, it's just not my favourite genre. So, what's it called?" I insist.

Baz sighs and shakes his head lightly. "The song is called 'High'" He says, and goes back to his humming.

"And the artist?" I persist. "There's probably a thousand songs with that name."

"It's by _Sir Sly._ " I laugh a little at that.

"Well that's an interesting name for an artist." I get out of my seat and walk over to where Baz leans over the pan of eggs. I peer over his shoulder. Baz glances at me. Suddenly his face is overtaken with a look of smug satisfaction, he probably noticed that I don't think the food looks disgusting.

I walk back over to my seat at the counter and wait until the guitar of the song fades out.

"Can you please play a song that we can _dance_ to?" I plead. Baz sighs and picks up his phone, typing in the name of another song.

Baz looks at me as he plops his phone down on the counter. "It's not a song that you can _really_ dance to, but this is my compromise, Snow."

A smile creeps onto my face as I realize that Baz's taste in music might not be so bad. Baz leans back against the counter and closes his eyes as the song kicks in.

"Fucking _dance_ Baz. I'm not doing this by myself." Baz's eyes fly open and he meets my gaze.

"Oh hell no, if you think I can dance, let alone _will_ dance, you're shitting me, Simon."

"Just get off the counter and _move._ It's not rocket science, you must've had to dance some time or another. Come on, it'll be fun to just let go of yourself for a little bit. I'll dance too! I just don't want to dance alone, that's all."

"And why is that my problem? Please forgive me if I fail to understand."

" _Please_ Baz! We're not dancing _together,_ well, we are, just not _together,_ you know?" I give him an exaggerated frown. Eventually, Baz pushes off the counter with a long sigh. _Mission accomplished._

Then Baz grabs my wrist. "Let's dance." He breathes.


	11. Heaven on Earth

**Baz**

You know that feeling, when your brain shuts off for a quick second? I'm pretty sure I failed to act as a functioning human being when I agreed to dance with Simon.

The fact that it's Simon makes it slightly less dignity-tarnishing than if I were to be dancing with anyone else in this world.

"Do you have _any_ sort of experience with dancing, Baz?" Simon questions.

"Crowley, I told you I couldn't dance to save my life, Snow." I make a move to turn back towards the kitchen counter and finish cooking our breakfast. Simon grabs my wrist before I can get far, then immediately loosens his grip.

"Sorry," He says. I stare at him blankly. I guess we've gone from death attempts to apologies.

"For what?" Now Simon gives me a blank stare, like he himself wasn't exactly sure what to be sorry for.

"No, I just- shouldn't have grabbed at you. If you don't-"

"I'm just going to pull our breakfast off of the stove, Snow, you'll get to see me humiliate myself soon enough, but I for one think we should keep the food out of it."

I catch Simon's smile in the corner of my vision. "Alrighty then."

I grab four plates out of the cupboards and divide the omelette into as equal portions as I'm able, before setting them onto the kitchen table and returning to where Simon waits. Fiona and father won't complain about cold eggs- they're not in the house anyways, and I'm going to guess that Simon couldn't care less.

"So," Simon raps his knuckles against the counter. "With your family rolling in all this cash," He waves his hand around, gesturing at the mansion in general. "You're telling me that you've never had to go to any weddings, baby showers, reunions or even fucking business events where you're _supposed_ to dance?"

"I find good company with the food tables near the back," I say.

Simon gives me a pitying look, which immediately turns itself into a smile. "I can't exactly knock you for that, I'll admit. I'd expect the food at those events to be nothing if not spectacular. Especially it's coming from someone with enough money to swim in."

Simon walks over and puts a hand on my shoulder. The gesture came as a surprise, and my first instinct was to tense, Simon registers the feel of my shoulder going stiff under his grip and meets my eyes. We stare at each other for a moment in silence, until Simon squeezes my shoulder reassuringly.

"It's okay," He mutters, and my heart swells at how lucky I am to have gotten even this much from the boy I love.

Simon visibly hesitates for a moment, clearly mustering up the words to say to me. It's beyond me why Simon would hesitate, or even care if anything he says would hurt me.

"Um-" Simon's gaze flicks to the cupboards behind me. "Hasn't your father ever asked you to dance with-" His voice trails off near the end.

"You can say it, Simon. Don't be afraid to hurt me." Simon flinches slightly at that. My heart races slightly at the fact that he _would_ flinch at that.

"Well, since your family didn't know about your _preferences_ before yesterday _,_ didn't they ever expect you to ask a girl to dance with you some time or another?"

Surprisingly, the question doesn't affect me all that much. "My father could probably tell that I never liked dancing around people, so he's never voiced any of those concerns out loud, though he was no doubt thinking I should ask a girl out."

Simon goes quiet for a moment, the music still playing softly in the background. "Let's start."

 **Simon**

The realization of it all really starts to set in. I'm going to be dancing with my crush. No- _teaching_ my crush how to dance.

"I thought we'd be dancing _freestyle_." Baz says as I fix his posture. He grimaces at the prospect that no, we are not in fact going to be dancing freestyle, but we'll be doing the bit of dancing that takes place at more classy events.

"I'm only helping you out for when your father decides to start voicing those opinions regarding your hatred towards dancing."

Baz huffs, but doesn't object when I grab his hand and place it at my side. His hand just hovers there, unsure of what to do.

I look at Baz and wait for his eyes to meet mine. "You can touch me, Baz." With that I feel his hand plant itself a little more firmly at my side. The gesture sends my heart into a frenzy.

I move my hand to Baz's shoulder, letting it rest there. My other hand moves lower until my fingertips brush across his.

My eyes flick upwards to meet his once again, asking for confirmation, and I feel Baz's fingers spread in silent invitation. I thread my fingers through his, and squeeze his hand once, lifting our conjoined hands upwards until we're standing in the proper formation.

Neither of us will meet the other's eyes. When I thread my fingers through Baz's, it became quite apparent that his pulse matched mine, it might've even been slightly faster. I'm pretty sure that Baz was a more than a little shocked to find me nervous as well, considering the fact that this was all my idea.

I'm praying that I can pass my nerves off as something, _anything,_ other than what they really are. I can feel more than see Baz nervously flick his eyes up at my face, and I do the same before he can look away again.

"Follow my lead," I tell Baz. "I'll go slow so you can follow along." He doesn't object or complain, so I take that as an okay.

Just like that I start slowly working my way across the floor, Baz hesitantly mirroring my movements. Our feet move forwards, backwards and across the large expanse of the Pitch mansion's kitchen.

Baz gets the jist of it fairly quickly. Our pulses have both slowed considerably, and we share a laugh every time Baz stumbles or steps on my feet.

In this moment I'm able to forget that we're enemies. I can remember that underneath it all, Baz and I are just boys. Boys trapped in a world that wants us to hate each other.

I dip Baz and he nearly falls over, dragging a laugh out of the both of us. Seeing Baz smile after everything he's been through yesterday alone makes me happier than it should be able to. We start to move again, and I become hyper aware of how intensely Baz is looking at me, _observing_ me.

He's doing it in such a way that is inconspicuous enough that I nearly didn't take notice to it. I want to think that it's because Baz likes me, too. Though the more logical reasoning would be that he's thinking about all of his plotting, and what that would mean for me.

I force myself to push those thoughts aside and enjoy the moment. Baz and I can't stop laughing, and it's honestly one of the most wonderful moments of my life.

 **Fiona**

It's the fucking morning, so naturally, I'm in a slightly pissy mood. Walking over to the bathroom, I freshen up and splash some water on my face, which does enough to wake me up. My clothes are the least of my concern, I don't have anywhere to be after all, so I make myself move.

A yawn breaks itself out of me as I drag my feet across the hall, peering into Baz slightly open door. A quick glance tells me that he and Simon are already downstairs. Malcolm is already out of the house running errands, he told me he'd be out this morning yesterday.

I start padding down the stairs, and turn towards the kitchen, where I allow myself a little smile at what's taking place inside.

Baz and Simon are engaged in a little dance routine. It's cute, that Baz has finally found himself someone that he'd want to spend his life with. At least, I'd assume so, considering the fact that as far as Malcolm and I are aware, Simon is the only person Baz has ever dated.

Since I like to consider myself a decent person, I decide it's best if I let the two of them spend some time alone together that's not in Baz's room.

I make myself stay a safe distance away, where they'll carry on without noticing me. I take this as an opportunity to judge their relationship, and just how comfortable these two are with each other so far.

Apparently they've been dating for a couple weeks, which is pretty good so far. They've probably made out a couple of times already, maybe even done some other stuff in their free time.

I have to fight down a laugh that threatens to escape as Baz stumbles, nearly falling to the floor. He would have, too, -if Simon didn't snake a hand around his back just in time to stop Baz's head from hitting tile.

The two of them let out a little chuckle, the only reason that it wasn't a laugh is because the save brought their faces dangerously close to each other.

I smile to myself as I realize that they're going to kiss. In this moment I couldn't be happier for Baz. From this scene alone, it's obvious it won't take long for these two to be madly in love with each other.

The kiss doesn't come, though. I don't know if either of them realize, but both Simon and Baz are glancing at each other's lips, their faces only a breath apart.

I'm not sure I'm breathing. The music fades out, leaving the sound of their breathing the only thing filling the kitchen. Neither of them make a move to stand either. Baz is still bent backwards at an odd angle, with one hand braced against the counter behind him.

Simon's still got his hand on Baz's back, while the other is planted on the counter beside Baz's. The look they share is fairly intimate, not that either of them realize that.

Because it's obvious these two aren't really dating.

If they were, they'd be all over each other after something like that. Simon seems like someone Baz would definitely be after, the way he's looking at Baz would suggest he'd be interested in Baz as well.

The two eventually pick themselves up and straighten out their shirts. They seat themselves at the kitchen table and rarely look up at the other.

The utter awkwardness that fills the room is enough confirmation for me that something isn't right between them. They aren't dating. Baz seems to like Simon. Simon seems to like Baz.

Neither of them know it.


	12. Mother Knows Best

**Simon**

While we eat breakfast, it's obvious neither of us know what to say. What is there to say after you've danced around the kitchen with your used-to-be enemy? At least I don't like to consider the two of us that anymore.

"Thanks for the food, Baz." I say, getting up from my seat at the kitchen table. He offers me a little smirk in return. Padding out of the kitchen, I make my way to the staircase and start for the bedroom.

I know what I'll have to do. Being happy with Baz felt so _good_ that it hurt thinking it wasn't real for him. Sure, it might've been genuine in the moment, but that happiness wouldn't exist back at Watford.

It's hard for me to do this anymore. My heart feels like it's overflowing with my feelings for Baz, breaking at the prospect of him playing with me. I have to get out of this house before it _breaks_ me. I need to find the diary. Baz can't win my everything. He's won my heart. I've got to win something now, before he rips me down.

I don't know if I love Baz. I'm close to that for sure. And it scares the hell out of me.

 **Baz**

The silence at breakfast could be described as nothing except uncomfortable. Crowley knows I'm lucky our little dancing session didn't result in me falling faint. It was nice to see that Simon was genuinely enjoying something though. I'd like to think his laughter was real.

After breakfast -and the miserable awkwardness that came with it, Simon thanked me for the food and scurried back upstairs. He probably really had to piss.

Fiona walks in to the kitchen not long after, muttering a half dead _good morning_ as she walks over to the coffee machine.

"Where are the cooks?" She asks, but doesn't stop pouring coffee powder into the top compartment of the machine.

"I thought I'd make breakfast this morning. Give them a break." Fiona nods her approval, back facing me as she rummages through the cupboards for a mug.

Once Fiona's coffee finishes brewing, she makes her way to the kitchen table and settles into the seat across from mine. I shove the extra plate of eggs I made for her across the table.

"Cold?" She asks.

I nod. "Unfortunately I wasn't ready to face the wrath of waking the princess over here. I figured cold eggs would be the better alternative."

Fiona snorts in retort and grabs the first fork in sight -mine, before wiping it off with her napkin. Proceeding to shovel eggs into her mouth.

"Can I talk to you, Baz? And I mean a serious talk, before you get all fresh with me."

"Isn't a bit early for us to be jumping into the thrall of adultery?"

"What'd I say about getting fresh?" Fiona doesn't seem annoyed in the slightest, more focused on her food than anything I've said so far.

"Sorry, sorry," I wave my hand back and forth. "Now what'd you need to talk to me about?"

"Simon," she says. Like I'm supposed to know where this conversation is headed. Once I notice Fiona's plate is empty, I grab it and make my way to the sink, waiting for an elaboration.

"What do you mean 'Simon'? Care to elaborate a little bit?" I make my way back to the table.

"Let's go to the living room now that we're done eating," I follow Fiona over to the main couch and seat myself beside her.

Fiona looks at me as if I'm supposed to know what to say. "Elaboration, please." I say, leaning my head against the back of the couch. I knew Fiona would be nosy when it came to my love life, but this is already enough to make me want to bang my head against a wall.

Fiona sighs, scrubbing a hand across her tired face. "Let's just say that after watching your little display in the kitchen," She starts. "I'm not buying this relationship you have with Simon, and I'd like to hear it from your lips what the fuck is going on between you two."

What the absolute shit. How the hell did I miss Fiona spying on us? Did she see the whole thing? Suddenly I'm replaying the whole ordeal over in my head, thinking of what we did that'd cause Fiona's suspicions.

How did my aunt get so goddamn good at deciphering relationship status?

My eyes meet Fiona's, and I realize I've been silent for a while. She doesn't say anything though, just quirks a questioning eyebrow at me.

"What do you mean?" I ask carefully, because I'm honestly confused. If Fiona has figured us out this soon, I can only pray father hasn't.

"I mean, I'm not buying this shit for one second. I saw that little tumble you took, and couldn't help making the connection that any real couple would have been laughing or making out after a catch like that."

" _Shit."_ I seeth, before a hand flies up to cover my mouth. Dead giveaway. My reaction just confirmed all of her suspicions.

Fiona yawns into her hand and ruffles her bed-head slightly, before refocusing on me. "What the hell is going on, Baz?" Her tone seems concerned if anything.

I'm lost for words. What am I supposed to tell my aunt? That I'm hopelessly in love with Simon, my enemy, who can never and will never love me back? That I organized this whole ordeal so I wouldn't be asked to bring a girl home?

Fiona moves a hand to my cheek and rubs her thumb back and forth across my skin. "Don't cry, baby. I didn't mean for this to hurt you." I lean into Fiona's touch, I love my aunt, and couldn't give a shit that I'm crying in front of her.

"Wanna talk about it?" She asks, and I nod, realizing that I do want to tell someone. If anything, I can trust Fiona to keep my secret between the two of us. She pets my hair and lets me lean into her, and the pathetic whimper that escapes me doesn't even phase Fiona.

"Start talking when you're ready, love." She mutters into my hair, running her fingers through the strands near the base of my neck.

"I orchestrated this entire thing. We're not really dating." I whisper. I know Fiona will be able to hear me. My voice still breaks at the quiet tone in which I'm speaking. "I wanted to bring a boy home to put an end to father's constant prodding. I couldn't take him asking me to bring a girl home when all I could see is Simon."

Fiona says nothing to that, but doesn't stop stroking my hair as I lean against her.

"He didn't want to do this, but I got him to. I love him, Fiona. I'm in love with Simon Snow, my enemy, and he's bloody oblivious."

I squeeze Fiona's forearm in attempt at stopping the fierce shuddering my confession wrenched out of me.

She's quiet for a moment before lifting my face to level with hers.

To my own shock, Fiona's voice is gentle and quiet. "Oh baby, no." I cry harder when Fiona's voice breaks, and she begins wiping the tears from my cheeks again. "Baz, baby, look at me. _Look._ " She says, and I do, because I need someone right now.

"You're going to get through this, if you care about Simon, you show him you do. He doesn't have to know how you feel about him unless you allow it, and-" Fiona cuts herself off. She angles her head to the ceiling and wipes at her eyes. " _Fuck,_ Baz."

I'm frozen. I've never seen my aunt so laid bare. So raw.

 _I've done this. She's upset because of me._

"I'm sorry." I whisper, and Fiona's head whips down to mine.

"Don't you be fucking sorry, Baz. I don't want to hear that shit come from your mouth after everything you've just told me." My crying has long stopped, though I want to sob more than ever at the sight of my aunts face. She looks so _broken._

Then we're hugging each other, impossibly close. "I wish I could help you," Fiona sobs quietly, "But I don't know how, Baz. Love hurts, I know."

"It's okay," I mutter, though it's not. It'll never be when Simon thinks I can't stand him. I feel as if now _I_ have to reassure _Fiona._ It's fucking amazing how much parents can care about their kids. Fiona isn't like a mother to me. She is my mother.

We're still wrapped around each other when Fiona speaks again. "You're my baby, Baz. Even with Mordelia and the twins, you'll always be my baby. I love you more than this world, you must already know that, and I can't stand seeing you hurt like this. I can't fucking do it." She whispers. "There's nothing worse than knowing that you can't help you're kid, Baz. I hope one day you'll learn that."

We hold eachother in silence for another moment, before Fiona speaks once again. "Fucking hell, Baz. I don't even know what to say anymore. After what I just told you with the parent-kid thing, I can't help but imagine you and Simon with a little toddler running around."

I can feel a little tear make it's way down my cheek at that, though Fiona and I laugh through our tears at the image of us adopting a _kid._ It makes me realize how desperately I long to be with Simon.

"Dear god, I hope it's him, Baz. I hope you end up with Simon." The moment feels so raw, and I realize I couldn't have had this conversation with anyone but her.

I pull away slightly and look into my aunts eyes. "I love you, Fiona. Thank you for that."

She whimpers quietly. "God, Baz, I didn't help in the slightest." Fiona says, dragging her palm across my cheek.

"You helped more than you know," I say, giving my aunt the closest thing to a smile I'll be able to right now.

"Go get em' Baz." Fiona winks. And just like that I'm feeling better about everything, even if it's just slightly.

I make my way back to my room, silently hoping that Simon isn't there, so I'll be able to have a moments quiet to recover from that whole conversation.

The door is open a crack, though I can't remember how far open it was this morning. Once I push the door open I'm met with Simon's back.

He's facing slightly away from me, though not far enough that I'd miss my diary in his hands.


	13. Friends Can Betray

**Baz**

Breathing becomes difficult as I stare Simon's back down. I focus on a particular spot in the middle of his spine so as to attempt calming my rapid breathing. Simon doesn't know I'm here, watching him toy with my diary in his hands.

Maybe the best thing to do is turn back towards the hallway and pretend this had never happened. Maybe Simon will put it back where he found it originally, and never mention its finding in the first place. As I debate my next move and the possible outcome of this disaster, Simon twists around.

Surprisingly enough, Simon looks startled at the sight of me in the doorframe, and nearly drops the diary to the floor. He immediately gets up from his squatting position near the edge of my bed, making a move to stand. I almost let out a nervous laugh at the way Simon visibly tilts, nearly falling over.

I should be the one who's nervous. Hell, I'm beyond nerves at this point.

Simon stares me down for a moment, his adam's apple bobbing with what could only be anxiousness. He must be ecstatic. Who knows what kind of things Simon would think I'd have written about. Something that's been hidden from him for years could only spike tremendous curiosity.

"I can't do this." Simon says. Like I should know what he's referring to. I debate waking right out of the room. Whatever bullshit Simon is about to spew regarding the finding of my diary, it can only hurt me more than I can afford.

 **Simon**

Baz looks far more uncomfortable than I expected. Though I'd have to admit, after all the tears we've shared over this short trip, it wouldn't have come as a shock to see a few crocodile tears slip past Baz's eyes. If I'm honest with myself, I'd expected more of a show- not the unending silence Baz is giving me.

It hurts me more than ever, my insides feel as if they'd turned to dust. Reminders of why I've decided to go through with this pop into my head, all at once with no warning.

I'm falling for Baz, _hard._ More than I'd like to admit. It's become almost certain to me that Baz may be playing with my heart in attempt at putting an end to this rivalry once and for all. Though it hurts me to do this to Baz, especially with these blossoming feelings I've developed for him, I made a vow to myself that I wouldn't let Baz steal my heart unless he'd do so with the right intentions.

I'm fucking scared to death of losing myself to the side of Baz I've known for years back at Watford.

The Baz I've been with on this trip had been something else entirely, almost too much for my boyish heart to take on all at once.

I can't even ask myself if I love Baz, I'm much too afraid to ask myself that question, for fear that the answer will be yes.

 **Baz**

Puzzling myself over what Simon might be feeling in this moment proves a somewhat sufficient way of reprimanding the hollow feeling in my gut. Years of staring at this boy haven't made reading his expressions any easier.

"I can't do this." Simon repeats. I hold his gaze -though it pains me to do so- with more silence. I can't seem to find my voice, so I urge him on with my eyes. I realize then that it was foolish of me to get my hopes up that Simon and I may have formed some kind of an understanding over this trip.

"I can't let you win." Simon is leaning against the wall of my bedroom, directly across from the door frame where I stand. He runs a hand through his ruddy curls, and my eyes track the movement unconsciously. Simon seems to catch that, and continues on.

"I won't let you beat me. I won't let you kill me in the end." He says. It becomes difficult for me to hold back the years of yearning and longing I've felt for this boy. I want to yell it to Simon's face, that I'd rather die a thousand deaths before having to be the reason for his.

"I've finally got everything you're plotting. It's all right here, and it's all going to be over soon."

It seems as if there's so much Simon _isn't_ saying at the moment. Like he's holding back all the things that he wants to say to me. I'd argue that the prospect of him wrenching my heart wide open -because he's currently holding it- is far scarier than what Simon isn't saying.

"Years worth of plans to put an end to me. I can't believe you'd be foolish enough to keep it in a little blue book. I've always known you were plotting against me, though I must admit this is quite the display."

I have to brace my hand against the doorframe in order to hold myself up at this point. I resist the urge to vomit right here at my feet. I want to yell more than ever, though I find my voice is still lost to me.

I want to say a thousand things and then none at all. I want to tell Simon desperately that I haven't been plotting against him. That the diary is filled with nothing but endless professions of love and hurt. Telling Simon about how I truly feel immediately leaves my head, I'm nowhere near ready for that- I might never be.

He's going to open it anyways. If I plead innocent, that'll only spike his curiosity.

"As soon as you leave this room. I'm going to break the lock."

Suddenly I feel faint. No matter what I say, Simon will open that diary expecting plotting and scheming. What he'll find is my heart laid bare. The heart that wants nothing but _him._

"Baz-" Simon starts. I don't let him finish, stumbling over to the bathroom. Not the one connected to my bedroom, the one down the hall. Farther away from where my worst nightmare is unfolding.

If Simon's footsteps could be heard following behind me- I don't hear them. Let him open the diary, let the whole world know how I feel about him. The heart doesn't bend for anyone. These feelings will never fade, I refuse to let them. Simon's the only one I'll ever want.

Time stops as I finally reach the bathroom. I flick the light on and briefly register the baby blue wall paper before dropping to my knees.

I'm queasy. It feels as if my insides are churning, like I'll be able to sense the moment that the lock is broken and Simon knows _everything._

Before I can register what's happening, I'm dry heaving into the toilet. I break into a cold sweat, thinking about things is only making things worse. Not thinking about things proves nearly impossible. My hands are quivering against the toilet bowl, and suddenly I feel as if I might pass out. I'm having a panic attack.

I begin slowly lowering myself to the cold tile of the bathroom floor, so I don't pass out and hit the floor with my head first. Then I'm laying on my side, curled in on myself. My forearm can only wipe some of the sweat off my forehead, though it helped a bit.

My eyes begin to blink at a slower pace, opening less and less with every blink.

Let Simon realize I love him, maybe he'll show some sympathy. Simon will have to be forced to realize that I never had a passing thought of killing him, because those thoughts were overshadowed by wanting to kiss the living daylights out of him.

Thoughts of Simon and what his reaction might be to my love fade out of my head, as the world fades to black.

 **Simon**

Baz looked pale- more so than usual before walking right out of the room. It surprised me more than I'd like to admit. The words I'd spoken were nothing if not forward.

' _As soon as you leave this room, I'm breaking the lock.'_

Then he walked out. -Stumbled, really. Looking white as a ghost. I stand in silence for a minute before walking out of the room in search of Baz, leaving the diary on his bed. The sun has already set, and any light in the hallway is gone, except for the bathroom light.

The door is open a crack, and one glance down the stairs tells me Fiona is downstairs and content with watching her television shows.

Baz is definitely in the bathroom then. I push the door open and almost keel over at the sight before me.

Baz is on the bathroom floor, curled in on himself. Nearly motionless. Panic sets in. I don't even note the movement of kneeling beside Baz's cold form until I'm gently shaking him.

" _Baz."_ I croak. My voice is hoarse, because with a sudden pang of guilt I realize _I_ did this.

" _Bazbazbaz!"_ I barely register the tear that drips off of my chin and onto Baz's cheek. My thumb brushes it away from his face with as much gentleness I can muster.

" _Please."_ I cry, shaking his shoulder gently. " _Can you hear me Baz?"_

Then shoulder muscles shift from beneath me, and I breathe a shaky sigh of relief.

"Baz," I whisper. He doesn't move save for the slight shift of his head in my direction. I catch it though, and place my hand under his head as a cushion at the near silent groan that came with Baz's head movement.

I place Baz's head in my lap, and try to move him from his fetal position, so that Baz is lying flat on his back. This way he's not using any energy to hold himself up.

There's a visible sheen of sweat plastered across Baz's forehead, and the towel rack is out of reach, so I pull my sleeve up over my arm and wipe it off.

"Listen to my voice, Baz," I say gently. "Focus on what I'm saying. Stay with me."

As my sleeve reaches the edge of Baz's forehead and the last of his sweat is gone, Baz shifts his head slightly again, this time so that my hand is pressed to his hair.

Whether the movement was intentional or not, I begin petting Baz's hair back from his head. He sighs into the touch.

"I'm here," I mumble. "You still with me?" I ask. Continuing to stroke bone straight strands of hair from his forehead.

"Mmhm." Baz mumbles. I remove my hand from his head and move it to rest at Baz's neck, feeling for both pulse and temperature.

Baz's eyes crack open slightly at the loss of hair-patting, and once I realize his breathing and temperature are about as normal as they'll get after passing out, I move my hand back to raven hair.

I allow myself a soft smile when Baz closes his eyes once again at the touch of my hands in his hair.

"You good now, Baz?" My tone is barely above a whisper, but speaking any louder feels wrong. He manages a subtle nod before pulling himself up just enough to loop his arms around my torso.

Baz's head is still in my lap, and I debate asking him if the position -arms wrapped around me while his head is lowered to my lap- is at all comfortable. Baz opens his eyes.

Suddenly I want to tell Baz that I won't open the diary. Though I don't know what I will or won't do at this point.

Then I decide to ask Baz a question. I don't know why I did it, or what satisfaction I expected to get out of this, but I felt the need to get this one thing from him.

"Baz," I start. He doesn't lift his head from my lap, though his eyes meet mine with a soft gaze. "Are we friends? I mean, before what I did just now, _were_ we friends? Did this trip change anything between us?"

I'm shocked when Baz doesn't hesitate. "No." He mumbles. "Haven't you heard the saying?"

Baz interprets my puzzled look as his queue to continue.

"Better to have an enemy who slaps you in the face than a friend who stabs you in the back."


	14. A Little Cup of Love

**Baz**

Simon can be quite puzzling at times. I'm not sure whether I should love or hate the way he's acting at the moment. Aside from the fact that he's sitting on the bathroom floor, my own self sprawled across the tile and clinging to Simon's torso, we're conflicted.

Simon threatened to open my diary and reveal everything that I've been plotting. Resulting in my little pass-out episode. If only he knew the things I've poured into those pages. The thought of my love being known to anyone but me -and now Fiona- is something that I'm in no way prepared for. Especially if the one finding this out is my love.

I pull myself up into a sitting position and fall against Simon. He sighs softly, sounding relieved, and I realize how weak I must really be for him, to fall right back into his arms after he nearly destroyed me.

"You need to get some rest, Baz." Simon makes a move to get up, pulling me along with him. The floor spins slightly as I get to my feet, and Simon seems to take note of this, slipping an arm underneath my shoulder.

Simon walks me back into the bedroom and sits me down on the bed. The day must have flown by, it's past dusk out. The night sky casts long shadows across the floor. Out of the corner of my eye, a slightly freckled hand turns the bedside lamp on, illuminating the room in a washed out yellowy-pink.

"Are you tired enough to get some rest?" Simon looks at me expectantly, and I nod. I'm more tired than anything at the moment. Last night I'd been the generous host, letting Simon sleep on my bed while I'd taken the couch just near the fireplace. Tonight I won't even put up a fuss, the mattress feels too good to get out of.

Simon saunters out of the room without warning, and I can only stare as I wait for him to return.

A couple of minutes later, it becomes clear that Simon might be a little longer than expected. I allow myself to close my eyes for a few minutes, though carefully enough so as not to fall into a deep sleep. I'm tired as all hell.

When the door to my bedroom audibly opens, I perk up slightly, pulling myself up and out of the covers just enough so that I can lean against the headboard.

Simon walks over to the bed and places a mug on the nightstand, looking anywhere but my eyes. I shift slightly over on the mattress so as to silently invite him to sit down, and I have force down a smile when he does.

He's fumbling with his hands in his lap and I wait in silence until his fingers still. "I made you some tea. Green tea. I'm not sure if you'll like it, but I hope you feel better soon. I feel really bad about everything, and I know it's my fault that you passed out-"

My hand moves to be placed overtop of Simon's, a silent plea to stop. "It's okay."

In this moment I realize that everything Simon said to me -about opening the diary and revealing what I've been plotting- isn't all true. Sure, he believes that I'm planning to destroy him, but thinking back on how anxious Simon seemed then, it's hard to believe he had any ill intent.

It seemed as if Simon felt he _needed_ to make that move, rather than _wanted_ to. The way he's treated me the entirety of this trip couldn't have all been an act. I can't imagine that possibility, and maybe his feelings towards our rivalry are similar to those going through my head.

We're silent for a while, and the hand I have over Simon's begins to trigger goosebumps along my arm. I take this as a queue to pull back. "It's okay, I know you didn't mean it Simon." He looks at me then, and I'm to shy to glance upwards and meet his eyes. I'm a damn coward and I know it, though it doesn't take much to sense Simon's gaze searching me.

A press of lips, feather light to my forehead snaps me out of my little daze. "I'm sorry, Baz. For all of it." His lips linger on my forehead as he presses a kiss there, running his thumb across my jaw.

' _-For all of it.'_ Somehow I think Simon means more than today. I never like to get my hopes up, though it felt like a slight implication, that he's sorry we were thrown into this life, these expectations. Maybe he doesn't hate me as much as I'd thought.

My hands move to the back of Simon's neck, eyes fluttering shut. Neither of us move. I can feel his breath on my face as he mutters words too soft to decipher.

When Simon moves, he presses a quick kiss on my cheek. I have to force down the rising blush that quickly spreads across my neck at the sudden affection. I turn my head against the headboard, spotting Simon wrapping his hands around the mug of tea.

He shuffles in next to me once again and places the cup of steaming green tea into my hands. The warmth of the mug against my cool fingers does wonders for my constantly chilly skin. "Thank you." I say, though I'm much more grateful than that.

"Don't thank me," Simon says. "After all the shit I've caused you today, I owe you this and much more, Baz." He quiets after that. Not knowing if that was enough.

We sit in silence until things get almost uncomfortable. "Please don't open it." I mutter, my voice more frail than I'd like to admit. Simon immediately makes a move to press his forehead against mine, and I almost shut my eyes at the icy blue staring back at me.

"Dear god, Baz. I never want to see you fucking break down like that again." Simon's eyes tell me that he's telling the truth. I'm drowning in his sorrow, his eyes reveal everything he's thinking- feeling.

It was not so Simon would believe me, not for anyone or anything really -but for myself that I said, "There's nothing against you in there, Simon. Never in my life have I written a single bad word or plotted anything against you in that diary. Believe what you will, I just felt the need to say it out loud."

He stares at me, our foreheads still together. "I believe you." He breathes, pulling away and getting up from his spot beside me.

I sip at my tea as Simon walks across the room and drops onto the couch across the room, pulling a red-plaid blanket over himself.

"Simon," I say, and he looks at me from the other side of the bedroom. The lamp casts his orange curls to a slightly lighter shade. He searched my gaze. _Come here,_ is what I don't say, _Stay with me._

He seems to interpret my further silence as a signal to come back to the edge of the bed.

"The couch is uncomfortable. I'll sleep there-" I start.

"No. You passed out cold on the bathroom floor barely an hour ago. What you need is a good rest."

"I can move so my back is pressed against the wall, and we won't touch. This is a king sized bed, so we'll easily fit."

Simon doesn't respond to that, but looks into my mug to find it empty, then takes it from me and places it back on the bedside table.

"Baz, I can't. You need a good night sleep, and you'll never get that with me here."

"Simon, I won't be able to sleep knowing that in this big ass mansion, you had to sleep on a couch from the 1700's. _Please._ "

"Alright. But the second I get annoying, don't hesitate to shove me out of the bed."

"Believe me I when I say I will not hesitate."

"We should probably change. These clothes are kind of uncomfortable." Simon gathers some things from his open luggage and carries them over to the bathroom. After a few minutes the door opens once again and Simon emerges wearing nothing but a tank top and knee shorts.

I shouldn't have been surprised considering the fact that Simon sleeps shirtless most days at Watford. I guess that the fact that Simon is going to be sleeping with me- in the same bed as me- makes me think that he'd have worn a little more than this.

I go into the bathroom and put on a black tee and some grey sweatpants, brushing my teeth and washing my face afterwards.

I walk back and settle into my side of the bed, trying not to think of the fact that I'm sleeping with the love of my life.

 **Simon**

As Baz settles in, I lean over and turn the lamp off. I've never slept with Agatha. Not in either sense. So just being in this kind of proximity to Baz, the boy I'm falling for, has my heart racing a little bit.

Despite all of the previous touching we've done during this trip, somehow this feels like the biggest step towards something for us two. Whether that's friendship or not hating each other.

Everything Baz has said today makes me believe him more than ever, though I have to admit to myself one thing. If Baz was being truthful when he said that there was nothing against me in his diary, what could there really be in there?

Suddenly I recall a bit of the words I'd peeked before we'd left for the Pitch mansion. Something the along the lines of - _I'm so in love with him- -I cried for hours-_ and another thing I can't place seem to place.

Maybe Baz's diary is nothing but that. A place for him to spill his feelings about first loves and heartbreak. For the second time on this trip I allow myself to imagine that it's me Baz has written about in there. I want it to be true more than anything.

I'd been so caught up in my thoughts that I barely register it when Baz leans over and _he_ kisses _my_ cheek.

"Your practically vibrating. _Sleep_ , Simon."


	15. A Body to Love

**A small warning. This chapter will be dealing with subject matter that some people may be sensitive to. It will deal with body image and someone who is not happy with the way their body appears.**

 **As most of you are already aware I'm in eighth grade, that being said I'm not the most experienced on the subject of bodily image, though I know it is something that plagues the youth of today.**

 **This chapter was by far my favourite to write. Exploring a topic that affects so many young people was definitely hard. I'll admit I cried a little bit while writing this chapter- something that's never happened to me while writing. I hope that demonstrating this issue through Simon and Baz will come off as a message to anyone currently going through a similar issue in their life.**

 **Baz**

Waking up to Simon is pleasant, no doubt. The circumstances aren't exactly what I'd hoped for, though I'm in no position to complain.

Simon groans and stretches his arms behind his back next to me, alerting me that he's woken. "Baz?" He croaks.

I look over at him silently only to find a pair of blue eyes already locked on mine. "Are you feeling alright Baz?"

"Yeah Simon. Must you continue to make me feel like shit for passing out?" I ask, a hint of annoyance in my tone.

"I should be the one feeling bad!" Simon says, sitting up completely now, the covers pooling in his lap. "I'm the one who caused you to pass out in the first place, I didn't mean to make you feel bad about it… or, embarrassed. Anything like that." He mumbles.

My heart swells at how sweet Simon looks right now. His hair falls into his eyes as he stares down his hands, which are fiddling in his lap. Simon breathes an exasperated sigh, lifting his eyes back up to mine.

Just to show a little bit of common courtesy I raise an eyebrow and ask, "Did I interrupt your sleep at all? Touch you in any _private_ places during the night accidentally?" Simon actually snorts at that, and I can't help but crack a grin.

"I'll take that as a no?" Simon nods confirmation and I breathe a sigh of relief. As much as I've yearned to touch Simon, doing it against his will and while he's trying to sleep would not have been favourable.

Simon scrubs at his eyes. "What time is it?" He asks, twisting around to search the room for a clock. Once he finds the old analog on the far wall he laughs a quiet laugh. "Its past 1 in the afternoon, Baz. Lord, we slept in a hell of a long time. You're excusable considering how drained your fainting episode must have been, but me," We both laugh a little.

"Are you hungry at all? I can bring something up for you to eat if you'd like." Simon shakes his head and drags his gaze to the door.

"No, I'm not very hungry right now. I'll probably grab something to eat a little later." I nod and crawl around Simon to get off the bed.

An old t-shirt and sweatpants are what I settle on wearing for today. It's not like anyone'll be seeing me but Simon and my family. I turn my back to Simon as I pull my shirt over my head.

 **Simon**

I don't think Baz realizes what he's done until it's too late. I won't say I'm not enjoying the view, though. The muscles in Baz's back shift as he lifts his shirt over his head. Though I can't see his front, I'm able to tell by the slowing of Baz's arms that the realization has hit him.

We've always changed in the bathroom, never in front of each other. Sure, over the multiple years that Baz and I have shared a room, we've seen each other shirtless. But that was mostly after he's come back from a game of football or one of us had slept topless, only to put a shirt on immediately.

Instead of saying anything, Baz grabs the pile of clothes in front of him casually and walks over to the bathroom wordlessly.

I'm too scared to check if I'm blushing. Of all the times I've gotten a little of that sight, never have I felt anything but annoyance towards Baz. Never has my gaze lingered like it did just now. My feelings for Baz are getting harder and harder to contain. I'm more than afraid that I'll do something stupid on impulse, like kiss him.

 **Baz**

I do my damn best to keep the horror out of my stance as I feign calmness, walking over to the bathroom to resume changing.

What the fuck was I thinking? It was like I'd become so comfortable with Simon, that it didn't register just how natural I was acting around him until I'd already removed my shirt. Sure, my back was to him, but I'm sure that if Simon had seen my face things would have been a lot worse.

I sigh and glare at myself in the mirror, splashing my face with water.

Suddenly I'm self conscious. The feeling washes over me out of the blue, and before I can realize it I'm turning around. My head peeks around my shoulder and looks back into the mirror.

My bare back is all that Simon had seen, he's seen it before, though I don't think he's ever been paying attention like he was now. I could feel Simon's eyes tracking me as I trudged into the bathroom. We're closer now- I daresay. The fact that we're paying more attention to each other, without the intent for anything said or done to hurt is almost scary.

So I stare at my back in the mirror, contemplating what Simon had thought. He doesn't like me. Not in _that_ way. So I'm not sure why I'm so paranoid at what he'd thought of my bare back.

I'm pale. I haven't fed in two days, though I can manage a few more. I should probably go do that some time today if I have the time.

There's a little bit of muscle around my shoulder area, though as my eyes creep lower it becomes apparent that a little bit of my ribs are visible, three faint lines that start at my sides, disappearing to my front.

Then my eyes tear themselves from the mirror and my back. My gaze focuses then on my front. My chin rests on my chest as I stare down at my bare torso. Fingers begin to graze the slightly visible lines of my ribcage.

I don't know what I'm doing. I'm eating normally. The last time I'd checked I was almost at the average weight for my height. There's nothing for me to be concerned about in terms of my health. I can't help feeling self conscious at the thought of Simon seeing my body like he just had.

I'd never really payed a ton of attention to my physique up until this point. Now that I'm looking at myself, it's become apparent that all of the other guys on the football team back at Watford are much more muscular than I am. The locker rooms have never made me take a good lock at myself either. I was too sweaty to care about anything except showering.

Maybe this isn't how I'm supposed to look. My fingers continue to run across my front, comparing myself to the memories of the other boys physiques. Simon must be more muscular than me. Looking at him tells me that much. He's got broader shoulders and is nowhere near as skinny as I am. The thought that I'm not normal invades my mind at that moment.

Simon must have noticed it even with the small glimpse of me he'd gotten. My hands stop their tracing and hang at my sides.

 **Simon**

After a few minutes of hearing absolutely nothing coming from the bathroom, no ruffling of clothes, no running water and no obvious signs that Baz is using the bathroom, I make my way to the slightly open doorway.

Knowing Baz, he's probably standing there, beating himself up for acting 'foolishly' or whatever other words he could come up with that would be sufficient in his 'beat-yourself-up' session.

But as I make my way to the door and peek through the crack. I stop dead in my tracks. Baz's fingers are running over his ribcage. I would have swooned were it not for one thing.

The way Baz is looking at himself could be described as nothing but horrifying to me. His face is nearly blank, though that paired up with the way he's touching himself, and all after me looking at his bare back leads everything to click in my head.

He's feeling self conscious. About _me._ Me seeing him bare from the waist up. I allow myself to look at him for a little bit longer, focused on the way Baz is studying himself like his body is something foreign to him. When his hands fall limp at his sides, I push the door open.

Immediately Baz turns himself around so he's facing away from me and places his hands on either side of the sink, hunching over it. This is obviously a trick to hide as much of his chest from me as possible, and after picking up on everything I'd just seen, something in me cracks.

"Why the fuck are you in here, Snow." Baz's head hangs in between his shoulders. The way 'Snow' is said after calling me by my first name this entire trip is a blow to my chest. Baz is on the defensive.

"Baz," I start, though I'm not sure what to say that'll get him to turn around and talk to me.

"Get out." He says. Tone flat and emotionless. The words shouldn't have shocked me, though they do. After everything we'd been through this trip I didn't think he'd be so flat out. I remind myself that Baz has a reason to be defensive right new.

At the realization that I'm still in the doorway, Baz's shoulder bones shift slightly from where they're hunched over the sink. "Get out," He breathes. " _Get the fuck out."_

"Listen to me Baz." I say cautiously, my hands out in front of me, gesturing peace even though Baz isn't facing me. "Look at me."

Then Baz's head swivels slightly. I'm staring at the side of his face now, but the anger is clear on his face. "Leave, _please."_ He says, voice breaking.

Something in me caves at that moment, but I know I have to stay. "I want to talk to you Baz. And it's not about… that."

The only sound filling the room is Baz's heavy breathing echoing across the tiles. I take this as the closest thing to permission I'll get from him.

Walking forward, Baz turns his head away from me once again, dropping it low. I cautiously move my hand to hover over Baz's shoulder, before gently placing it there. Baz flinches hard then, and we're both stunned into silence.

That breaks me, and apparently him too- Baz covers his eyes with his arm and starts visibly shaking a little. I can only picture Baz's eyes squeezed shut under his arm, trying to fight whatever emotions or tears that threaten to spill over.

"Look at me, Baz."

He doesn't move, so I continue on anyways.

I catch Baz peeking his eyes out briefly from where they hide in his arm. They're red rimmed and wet. "Baz." I say. My hand moves back to his shoulder and this time he doesn't flinch away from the touch. "Seriously, look at me."

Breathing unsteady, Baz complies. His face is a mess of already dried tears, though those wondrous grey eyes remain slightly red-rimmed. "Are you fucking happy now, Snow?" Baz gestures to the state of his face. That's it again, calling me by my surname.

"I saw the way you were looking at yourself just now, and it's awful." Baz goes silent then, and it's obvious that he didn't expect that from me. I move the hand that rests on Baz's shoulder to cup his cheek and I can see it pains him not to move out of the touch.

"If your here to fucking make fun of my body, then please go burn in fucking hell. Get the fuck out of here while you're at it." If he continues to say things like that I'm going to cry, too.

Baz turns his head to the side in a failed attempt at hiding his face from me. I can see his jaw working, teeth grinding against each other, while another tear slips down the side of his face closest to me. My hand on that cheek wipes it away.

"That's what I wanted to talk to you about. I'm not here to make fun of you. I'm not here to laugh at you. I'm not here to shit on you, Baz. So listen." He turns back to me then, and the sheer pain in his eyes kills me a thousand times over.

He backs up and lifts himself onto the counter. I don't miss the way Baz slouches, putting his elbows on his knees. Another attempt at shielding his body from me.

"It kills me to see the way that you looked at yourself Baz. Like you were disgusted with yourself. I don't know if you're being self conscious because I saw you nearly bare just now. But regardless, I'm telling you that you don't have to be self conscious for anyone, Baz. Not for anyone at Watford, not for me, and sure as hell not for you."

Baz's breathing tells me he's going to let some tears spill over again, though he holds it together as he breathes, "Have you _seen_ me Simon?"

There are a few things in that sentence that get a few stray tears out of me. The tone in which Baz spoke about himself. The way he has shifted back to calling me Simon again, and the way that he's looking at me like I should be repulsed by him.

" _God,_ Baz." My voice cracks and breaks in every way possible. With the tears, the emotion, the thought that anyone should have to look at themselves and hate what they see in the mirror. I walk over to where Baz is perched on the counter and throw my arms around him.

Then Baz is crying into my shoulder, letting me hug his wonderful bare chest. I'm crying a little bit too. Hoping that I've helped Baz, taken any doubts or hate out of his head. Hoping that this was a lesson to him. I hope that he knows he's more than perfect.

 **Baz**

Simon is overwhelming at times. He's making my heart want to beat out of my chest. The fact that he noticed and recognized the way I know I was looking at myself, then felt the need to confront me about it, to make sure that I was okay- is too much for me to take.

So that's why I've allowed myself to cry, that's why I've allowed him to hug my bare chest. Because Simon gets it. He gets that I shouldn't be feeling the way I'm feeling.

I cry into his shoulder, feeling the need to let everything out, when I feel him start to shake with the force of what are undoubtedly tears of his own. The realization is enough to have me cave even more than I thought possible.

It's incredible that this emotion is for _me._ Simon is hurt at the thought of me hating myself, at me hating my body. Once we're both out of tears, neither of us feel the need to let go of our hold on each other. Simon's face is buried in my neck and my eyes flutter shut as I feel his nose travel downwards across my skin.

I feel him stop at my collarbone. Simon plants a lingering kiss there that sends shivers up my spine. I bite back the sound that threatens to escape my throat. He kisses the same spot once again, hand placed on my ribcage. His thumb moves back and forth against the bones there, an obvious reference to my touch there before.

Simon lifts his head then, pressing his forehead up against mine before speaking.

"I never want to see you look at yourself that way again, Baz. One day, you're going to find a boy that loves you. You're going to find a boy that thinks your body is beautiful. A boy that thinks you're beautiful."

 **Simon**

What I don't say is that Baz has already found that boy.


	16. Returned at Last

**Baz**

This moment is never going to leave my memory. Simon's words of reassurance mean more than I can explain. He hasn't released his hold on me yet, even after both of our tears have subsided.

"Thank you, Simon." I whisper next to his ear. The only response I get is a nose nuzzling into my neck. I'm forced to suppress the shudder that courses through my body from the skin on skin contact. The love I've been hiding from Simon for years is threatening to reveal itself.

"Don't thank me, Baz." Simon breathes. "You deserve this. The reassurance- I mean." He hesitates for a moment before pulling back slightly.

I'm still sitting on the bathroom counter, while Simon stands directly in front of me. The hand placed over my heart barely registers with me because I'm so lost in the blue of Simon's eyes.

When it clicks, I slowly make a move to place my hand overtop Simon's where it rests on my chest. The silence of the room is filled with our breath, neither of us breaks each other's gaze.

Finally Simon's eyes flick to where my hand rests overtop his, and he takes in a shuddering breath before meeting my eyes once again.

"Before we end this conversation Baz, I need to know that you know this." I hope Simon can feel my heartbeat underneath his fingertips, steady and strong.

 _It's because of you,_ I want to say. _I'm okay now because of you._

"You are beautiful. No matter what the world says, you are beautiful, Baz. Please know that."

I'm at an utter loss for words. What can I say to that? The love of my life tells me that I'm beautiful, even if he wasn't referencing his own thoughts, and _needs me to know it._

The look in Simon's eyes tells me that he meant every word. That he wasn't just saying that to reassure me. Thoughts muddle together in my mind as I try to fathom just what to say in response to this.

Simon must interpret the look on my face as answer enough, because he slides his hand out from under mine and quickly brushes his fingers across my cheek before turning towards the door and walking out.

I don't move from my place on the counter even after Simon exits the bathroom. I'm looking at the wall across from me like it will have the answers to my life. The answer to the question of why I've been lucky enough to have someone like that boy in my life.

A minute or two go by before it registers that things haven't changed, and I need to continue to get dressed. Looking down at myself, this time the sight doesn't make me cringe or wonder. Instead I'm reminded of Simon's thumb brushing across my ribs, the warmth surrounding the memory.

I hop off of the counter then, grabbing a grey t-shirt from where my clothes lay strewn across the floor. Tugging the shirt over my forehead, I make a move to open the bathroom door and walk back into my bedroom.

Simon lay on the bed, the afternoon sun filtering through the windows basking him in a layer of gold. He's lost in a book, probably one from my little wooden bookshelf near the fireplace. The title reads _The Great Gatsby_. Didn't know Simon was into reading.

At the sounds of my light footfalls, blue eyes peer out from the pages and instead at me.

"I'm going to head downstairs and maybe outside later. You can stay here though, my family won't bother you." Simon nods, eyes returning to the pages in front of him.

Turning towards the door, I'm stopped by his voice. "You okay now, Baz?" That careful thought is enough to have me running into his arms.

Instead I make my way over to where Simon reads on the bed, willing myself to calm the beating of my heart. _He's only asked if your okay, Baz. Calm yourself._

Simon's eyes follow me as I make my way across the room, head not far out of his book. I pluck it out of his hands and place it open on the bed, ensuring that he won't lose the page. Then my arms are around him, hoping this will convey the answer to whether I'm okay or not, why I am. Right after, I'm welcomed by two strong arms around wrapped around me as well.

"Thank god." Simon breathes, and it's enough to empty my head of anything but _him_.

"It's because of you, idiot. You're the only reason I'm alright." I pull away slightly, leaning over Simon with an elbow propped on the bed.

"I'm glad." Simon tells me, moving forward to press a kiss to my shoulder. Then it really clicks. Everything we've been telling each other, the little gestures of affection we've shared. There's a sliver of hope blossoming in me. Maybe Simon does hold some affection for me deep down.

Even if that isn't true, the two of us have been working towards something that is not enemies these past few days. We're becoming closer, maybe even friends. Once the thought is in my head I can't get it out.

"Are we at least friends?" I whisper, and suddenly it isn't clear even to myself whether that question was for Simon or not.

Not knowing how lost in my head I must've just been, the sound of his voice snaps me back to reality. "Baz." He says. "After everything, all the shit I've seen you go through these past couple of days, I want you to answer that question."

The pink that must be creeping up my neck threatens to surpass my shirt collar, and I turn my head away from Simon out of embarrassment at his request. At the obvious answer in my mind.

"Look here, Baz. And answer your own question. Or at least, answer what you think has or hasn't already happened. Do you think we've become friends?"

It's flustering to have Simon look at me with a burning intensity in his eyes, still managing to remain cool and calm. I'm surprised to find my voice doesn't fail me.

"Well, I don't know if we've become friends, or rather- if you'd consider me your friend. Though I'd like to be- um… uh, friends with you, Simon." It doesn't take long before a lovely grin fills my vision.

"Right answer, Baz. We're friends now, and that means I don't want to see you hurt like you just were in the bathroom. That means I'll be here for you, like I hope I have already been on this trip. Friends love each other, even if they don't say it."

My heart is pounding, and all I want to scream is that I've already loved him, though not in the way that friends do. Every thought in my head is silenced as I let Simon's words really sink in. Then I'm smiling right alongside him.

"I guess this is just my way of saying it, Baz. The last few days of being friends has already made me realize it." _That he loves me._ In a friendly sort of way.

"Me too, Simon." _I love you, too. I love you a thousand times over._

 **Simon**

I don't know what other way I was to get a little bit of the weight off my shoulders. Because now I've realized it.

I am in love with Baz Pitch, even when I shouldn't be.

This was the only way I could get some of that to Baz without saying too much. Implying that I love him in a friendly way, because friends love each other like that. _He said he loves me too._ Though not in the way that I could hope for. Today has made me realize one thing above all others.

That the words 'I love you' are the fucking scariest in the world.

 **Baz**

The air is tight between Simon and I, neither of us knowing what to say after such an intimate conversation. After a little, he breaks the silence.

"Go look behind the vase, Baz."

I hit Simon with a questioning look, but he is determined to say nothing more. Without giving him any further puzzling looks, I turn to my bookshelf where a large black vase sits on the shelf closest to the bottom.

Crouching down to the base of my bookshelf, I can spot the baby blue easily. My head whips back around to where Simon is sprawled over the covers, looking at me lazily. He only tilts his chin forward in a gesture to carry on.

I pull my diary out from the crevice between black ceramic and wood. The feel of my diary returned to me is strangely comforting.

"Thank you," my voice fills the silence of the room.

"Shut the fuck up. I'm sorry for taking it, Baz." I turn my head just enough to let Simon see the smirk on my face. Looking up through my lashes, I notice a smirk mirroring my own.

After about five seconds of inspection, I've deduced that the lock is intact, and no one has been through this diary but me. Simon buries his face back into _The Great Gatsby_ before speaking again.

"Put that wherever you like, I won't look." A glance up tells me as much, he seems invested enough in his book to suggest that he won't care enough to look at my hiding place.

With careful deduction, I decide to shove my diary back behind the black vase, trusting Simon enough to know that if he finds this here again, he won't open it.

"Alright, I'm heading down now. Enjoy your book."

All I get in response is a slight, "mmff" before he is re-immersed into his fine literature.

I head downstairs with the intent to feed. The back woods behind the Pitch mansion are home to plenty of wildlife if you head in deep enough. I've caught a few deer there from time to time.

Padding down the stairs, I walk over to the foyer to grab a pair of old sneakers I wear in the backyard. They're ruined enough that I couldn't care less about what happens to them.

I hook a finger into each shoe and make my way to the screen door in the kitchen that leads to the back of the mansion.

As I arrive in the kitchen, I'm stopped in my tracks. Because the person I've been avoiding for almost two days is sitting here, sipping his coffee at the table. The disappointment I never wanted my father to feel towards me might have just happened when I brought Simon here.

I'm frozen in the doorframe, willing my expression to stone. I haven't had a chance to talk or explain myself to father, and I've got no idea what has been going through his head since catching me listening in on his conversation. Since I caught sight of the tear streaming down his face.

Father's face is nothing but warm as he says, "I think we should talk, son."


	17. Love Through The Ages

**Malcolm**

I didn't expect to see Baz around the mansion -or around me- for a while. I deserve nothing if not his avoidance for saying the things I did about him.

So while I'm reading the morning newspaper, sipping my coffee, it came as quite a shock when my son walked in to the kitchen.

Baz looks like he'd just seen a ghost, and it pains me to know that I'm the source of that very emotion. Stopping in the doorway, he freezes up waiting for me to say something.

"I think we should talk, son." That's the best I could start off with. Fiona really gave me a wake up call as to the way I'd been handling this. Baz needs to hear everything that's been festering inside my head since making him upset a few days ago.

Baz has one hand resting against the doorframe while the other dangles at his side. He only nods in response to my request, and it doesn't take a genius to realize he's afraid of using his voice. I catch a slight tremble in my sons hand from where it hangs, and the sight nearly brings me to my knees.

I never want to be the source of my son's pain.

Standing from my seat at the kitchen table, I motion for Baz to lead the way into the living room. He pushes off from his position against the doorframe, walking across the kitchen in order to exit through the opposite side and into the living area.

On his way there, he passes the kitchen table where I stand. I put a hand on his shoulder before he can escape and feel it tense under my grip. The look of fear in my son's eyes is enough to break me.

Baz waits for me to speak, never breaking my stare. Instead of speaking, though, I draw my son into me. I squeeze my eyes shut and rest my head atop Baz's. Words aren't enough to fix any of this, though I'll have to try.

As Baz accepts my embrace, I hear him huff a soft sound into my chest. One that makes me think he was on the verge of breakdown. I'm reminded now of just what lengths I'd go to in order to protect my boy. I'd do anything for my son.

 **Baz**

I keep telling myself that I will not cry in front of my father. That there were far too many tears shed on this trip alone. Feeling my father's arms around me threatens to change that right now. It's the feeling of being overwhelmed, fearing of what my father thought of me since seeing him cry.

Burrowing into him, I try to calm my breathing, squeezing my eyes shut in attempt to calm the stinging behind my eyes. Father doesn't say anything, only keeps his grip around me firm and reassuring.

Words aren't enough to express the love I have for him, this vital figure in my life. I don't know what kind of man I would have become without my father to guide me through life.

Suddenly I'm gasping lightly on air, desperately trying to get the words out. I squeeze my father harder before I'm able to choke out the words. "I love you. I'm sorry- I love you more than anything, father."

I'm left trying desperately to suck in as much air as possible. I've said the words hundreds of times to my father, but time felt different- raw.

"God, Baz. You know I will always love you more than anything in this world. I don't even need to tell you that. I never want to hear you say you're sorry for _any_ of this, because you know this one's on me."

I hide my face against my father once again, and whisper, "I don't want you to hate me."

At that, I feel his chest convulse from beneath me, and father lets out a hoarse whimper, loosening his firm grip on me into something softer- more comforting. "Baz," Father's voice is already quivering, making it hard for me to stay semi-composed.

"Baz, don't ever say that again." Father presses his lips to the top of my head, murmuring the rest. "How could I ever hate the little boy that carved himself into my heart the minute he entered this world? The symbol of love between me and your mother."

That's all it takes for me to let out a few shuddering tears. The relief that this didn't cause a rift between us is overwhelming.

Father pulls away slightly and wipes the few tears off my cheeks. "Don't cry, son." At the closeness of his face, I can tell that his eyes are wet, too, though father is doing a better job of keeping things in.

"Come, Baz. I still have things to say, though the kitchen isn't the best place for it. Let's move to the couch."

Making our way to the living room, I'm the first to sit down. Father arrives at the sofa a few strides behind me. "Wait here a moment, Baz. I've got to fetch something from my room."

I restrain the look of puzzlement that I want to let show, instead nodding.

Father disappears for a few minutes, and I wait patiently in comfortable silence. Soon enough, I hear padding down the steps, and I twist around to watch father as he makes his way over to me.

He sits down, and my eyes go to his hands, which aren't carrying anything. One is clenched, it must be holding whatever this object is.

"What is it?" I ask, my eyes still trying to figure out what is small enough to fit in father's fist.

"Before I show you, I want to explain." I nod and wait for him to continue. "I got this for your mother when she was pregnant with you, hoping she'd keep it with her most of the time. Instead of accepting it though, Natasha looked at her belly, where you were at the time, telling me 'I want this to be for him. When he's old enough to understand what it represents. When we think the time is right.' After your mother died, I'd forgotten about this. Now I think it is the time you should get it."

I'm left staring at my father blankly. Blinking in rapid succession. "Open your hand." He tells me, so I hold out my palm. In it is dropped a golden ring, upon closer inspection engraved with the words _My heart is yours._

Breathing is the only sound filling up the silence in the room. My heart breaks, while somehow filling to the brim. This is everything to me. A token of my parent's love for eachother, and their own love for me. Mother wanted this to fall into my hands eventually, and today is when it finally does.

"Thank you." Nothing is going to portray the feelings passing through me right now.

"Of course," Father nods. "You know how much I loved your mother. How much she loved and still loves you."

Suddenly he looks down at his lap, blinking at a pace that suggests oncoming tears, though once again they're held back.

"I want you to feel that same love I felt for her, Baz. I don't care who you decide to give your heart away to, as long as I know you're happy. You deserve that much out of this world."

I'm silenced by that. Hearing my father speak this way, accepting me and who I love- is something I never expected from him.

"How are things with your boyfriend, son?" I glance upwards to meet eyes that are so gentle and warm, I can't help but smile sadly. The thought of Simon and our situation is quite unfortunate.

"Father, I should've said something about all this before, but give me a chance to explain everything now. I've already told Fiona all of this, so unless she's already spewed it to you, here we go."

He squeezes my shoulder in support, waiting for me to begin.

"When you told me to bring a girl home- I contemplated it for a while. I figured why put on an act when I've been gay my whole life. I'm never going to end up with a women, so might as well use this as a chance to come out to you. The thought of your disapproval was enough to scare me out of the thought a few times."

"Oh Baz," Father's tone is cautious, quiet. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry a thousand times over and it still won't ever be enough to make up for what I've done." He sighs. "Not to make excuses, but as I'm sure you're aware, back in my time people weren't accepting of those who loved outside of the 'normal'. But you've changed me, Baz. You've given me a new perspective on love in itself. It makes me believe that your heart is truer than most, that you were born to show people that love has no boundaries. And that we're damn fools for ever thinking otherwise."

" _Father,"_ I croak, leaning to rest the side of my head on his shoulder. He pets my hair, the two of us sitting in comfortable silence. "I love you." I breathe into the room.

"I love you more." He breathes back, head resting atop two of us gaze out of the window, where the sun basks the trees in a lovely gold.

 **Malcolm**

Baz is calm. We're still pressed shoulder to shoulder in silence, my hand wrapped around his shoulders.

"Simon doesn't know, father." Baz's voice fades into the room, filling the emptiness with his voice.

"Hm?" I question.

"I got him to pretend at being my boyfriend. He doesn't know that I'm in love with him. I've loved Simon for years and he doesn't know it."

"Oh, Baz." The thought of what these past few years must have been like for him are painful. "You show Simon. Love has never needed words, so every day you show him how much you love him. He'll be a fool not to realize it. Then, even if Simon can't love you back in the way you do, at least he will have acknowledged the love that was given to him."

I feel Baz nod his head against mine.

"I know what it's like to give all of your love away, and get none in return. It had taken me a few years to get your mom to go out with me, and by then I was long convinced I loved her. Though none of that compares to what you're going through."

"Yeah," Baz says. "It's funny how years of this overwhelming feeling haven't changed my heart one bit. I'm convinced that Simon is who I want to spend the rest of my life with, and that scares me."

I hate that my son is hurting- has been hurting.

Pulling back from where my head rests atop Baz's, I tilt his chin towards me, making sure that grey eyes are locked on mine.

"It is a beautiful thing to want someone, Baz. It is a whole other thing to have them. Earn Simon's love, no matter what kind of love he will give you. Fight for it."


	18. Found father

**Baz**

Talking to father might have been the best thing to have happened to me all year. There's no feeling like love in the world, and getting all of his love during our talk was overwhelming.

He taught me to accept the love that I keep for Simon as well. It's a fragile thing, the feelings I hold for him.

As I walk out the back door planning on feeding, my mind wanders over to thoughts of Simon. Like it always does. I'm beginning to suspect that Simon may hold a bit of affection for me. A bit of the kind I have for him.

The cool air blows past my face as I make my way farther into the backyard, heading for the woods. Just thinking about the little kisses Simon and I have exchanged during this trip, though not on the mouth, make me wonder at his feelings for me.

I don't feel crazy for thinking it. I feel a warmth accompany me, even out in the chilly air.

Because playing everything back in my head, I realize that Simon and I might just be dancing around feelings for each other. There's a great chance that the love of my life could start to love me back.

 **Simon**

I've lost track of time, and a quick peek at the clock tells me that I've been reading The Great Gatsby for nearly two hours. I'm not a very fast reader.

A knock at the door doesn't deter me though, and I continue on with my reading. Baz should know that knocking really isn't necessary. This is his own house after all.

"Simon? Can I come in?" At the sound of the voice at the door I throw Baz's book across the bed and make a failed attempt at straightening out my t-shirt.

A strangles "Yes," makes its way out of my lips while I quickly scan the room for anything that might taint my image.

Malcolm Grimm walks into his son's bedroom looking sharp as ever, even in a plain white button up shirt.

He must have noticed the slight tremor in my response before, because he walks over to where I stand and places a comforting hand on my shoulder. "I wanted to tell you I'm sorry."

That shuts me up. Not like I was going to talk much anyways. "I've just spoken to Baz and cleared things up with him, but rather than letting him recite my words, I figured that I should apologize to you as well."

"Oo-okay." Words really aren't my friend at the moment, and all I can do is look into Malcolm's eyes, feeling slightly intimidated despite his warm tone.

He turns his head away from me and winces, muttering, "Jesus, boy," before turning back to my face. "It pains me to know I've caused that look of fear in your eyes."

"Sorry," I mutter, not really sure what I'm apologizing for. Malcolm chuckles lightly.

"Here son, I just wanted to say that I didn't mean to make you feel out of place or unwelcome in this house for any reason. Baz has really opened up my mind, and I feel like a damn idiot for ever thinking that wanting to love someone of your own sex wasn't proper. I'm sorry, Simon. Even though it'll never be enough. I hope you feel at home here."

I fight back the urge to tell Malcolm that I don't like my own sex. That I don't like Baz. Then I remember that I'm in love with him, and everything comes crashing down.

"Hey, Simon." Malcolm's hand returns to my shoulder and squeezed firmly, reminding me that he's here.

"Baz told me. It's okay, he let me know about the situation. He told me you two aren't together. You don't have to feel embarrassed about pretending or anything. Just know that you're welcome to stay here as long as you want as just friends. I have a feeling my son would quite enjoy that."

I look up at Malcolm, finding it difficult to make out his face through the haze of tears blurring my vision. _I love Baz! I love him and I don't know what to do or who to tell and it's just great that he decided to let you know that this is all fake when I've accepted my feelings for him._

Blinking back the tears blurring my vision, I feel a few small ones slip out and stick to my lashes, clinging there. Suddenly I'm falling into Malcolm, the father I've never had. The person that has made me feel safe within five minutes of talking.

His arms find their way around me immediately after I curl into him, breathing hard and fast.

"I'm in love with your son." The words come out rushed and quiet, a poor attempt at trying to keep it together.

Saying it out loud brings all of the heaviness off my shoulders, so I say it again. "I'm so in love with him, and I've only just realized it during this trip. I'm in love with him and I'm scared of it."

 **Malcolm**

Simon falls into me just like my own Baz does. Knowing that he's this comfortable with me lifts a lot of the guilt off my shoulders from before. Hopefully this means he's forgiven me.

"I'm in love with your son." The words barely register with me, and once they do, the only reaction I show to it is my grip tightening on the boy. Baz let me know that Simon doesn't have any parents, and I know he needs one right now.

"I'm so in love with him, and I've only just realized it during this trip. I'm in love with him and I'm scared of it."

I allow myself a small smile, knowing that Simon can't see it. The fact that Simon has resisted the urge to cry right now is strangely impressive. The boy seems on the verge of a breakdown.

It's a challenge not to tell Simon what I know. That Baz has loved him for years on end. That he's dealt with the pain Simon is feeling right now for such a long time. It's an effort for me to stay silent about everything I know and they don't.

One of the greatest things about love is the discovery. These two love each other with an intensity I've never known. The soft smile playing on my lips doesn't fade as I feel Simon's hands bunch up in the back of my shirt.

I pat his head twice, hoping to get across a silent _It'll be alright._

My son has found the love of his life, and it's only a matter of time before he realizes it. Just so I can tell Simon without giving it away, I say one thing.

"I think you should stay, Simon."


	19. The Sun will Shine Again

**Baz**

After I'm deep enough into the woods, my feet begin to slow. I take in the sound of leaves rustling, the scent of grass and crisp air.

Hopefully I can find something big enough to last me a while. I don't want to have to be out feeding for another while if I can help it.

Simon should be inside for a while if anything. He won't be coming after me anyways, there's no reason for him to go looking for me when he's so caught up in his book upstairs.

I'm walking around mindlessly when the thought pops into my head. It's reckless of me really- to even allow the possibility to enter my mind. Now that it's circulating through me I can't help but contemplate it.

 _I want to tell him_ my mind whispers. And I realize for the first time that maybe it wouldn't be so bad to let Simon know how I feel about him when he's shown nothing but kindness this entire trip. Maybe I should just put it all out there- expecting to get shut down.

As long as this secret is no longer a secret- I think I'll feel a lot better. The worst thing that could happen is Simon's reaction to the news. After that, it doesn't matter who he tells or who finds out. I only care for what he'll think of my love.

Twigs snap beneath my feet, leaves crunching as I pad through the brush, hoping to actually spot something despite how loud I'm being.

Slowing down, I slither behind a tree with a particularly large trunk. Peeking my head out from behind the bark I wait silently as a deer grazes on the little vegetation that can be found left in this chilly weather.

It's a female and not fully grown yet, though not quite a baby. That should be able to hold me over for two weeks if anything. I'm able to survive on normal food most of the time anyways.

I crouch down cautiously and pull out the kitchen knife from my shoe, practicing a throwing motion before aiming it at the creature.

A quick flick of the arm and it's done, though the little yelp that the animal lets out kills me a little. Even after the numerous times I've done this over the years.

The deer takes a few minutes for me to drain. Even then, I'm not able to take all of it's blood. Most is enough to fill me up more than I need.

Fiona is going to be pissed about the blood I've gotten on her knives as always, even though I've made it clear that I can't catch a deer without it. That I need to feed and this is the only way that allows it to happen.

Father doesn't really care for the most part. He knows about everything I've been through as a vampire, and as long as I make sure the animals aren't left in his direct line of sight, he doesn't bring up the subject.

Feeling a lot less exhausted than before, I begin to walk back in the direction of the mansion at a leisurely pace. It's only a few seconds before I spot a tree stump and make a move to sit there.

I've got nothing better to do, so why not spend a bit of the day outside, absorbing the beautiful world I'm surrounded by. Letting the sounds of birds and the breeze swallow up my every thought, the sun shining through the brush, I'm at peace.

 **Simon**

Malcolm is ready to leave the room when I stop him.

"Do you know where Baz is?" I question, having nothing better to do.

Malcolm smiles softly and tells me, "Baz was heading for the back door last time I saw him." before turning away and padding down the steps. I wait a few seconds before following down the stairs.

My shoes are in the foyer, so I grab them along with a dark green zip-up I'd had in my suitcase. The back door shuts softly behind me and I begin walking into the clearing of trees.

I'm not exactly sure what direction Baz would be, or what exactly he's doing out here. It's quite nice outside at the moment, maybe he'd just wanted to absorb a bit of sun. Take a walk through the forest and forget.

That's what I like to do outside, forgetting. It's one of the best places to let go of the things that cloud my focus, take over my life. The amount of things I've left to the wind is more than I'd like to recall.

After a few minutes of walking aimlessly, no sign of Baz, I stop. Look up at the thick branches a few feet above my head, where the sun cascades through the leaves beautifully. I close my eyes and tilt my head upwards, breathing it all in.

It's nice. Nice to be outside for a bit with no real worries to plague my mind.

There's a thick patch of trees where no real sun can peek through before I spot the next ring of gold shining through the branches.

At the edge of the golden ring, Baz sits on a tree stump, eyes closed and head tipped upwards like mine just was. He looks gorgeous in the sun, and I force my gaze away for a moment, stuffing my hands into my pockets. I've never been this flustered over feelings for someone.

The image is burned into my mind. Not because I can't stop thinking about Baz. Not even because I think he's unbearably gorgeous. But because he looked so at peace in that moment.

This entire trip has been a series of tears and anger and heartbreak. It melted my heart a little bit to see Baz in a state where he wasn't worrying. Where he could maintain a sense of peace, even if it was just for a moment.

He doesn't seem to take note of my presence, as I'm still a fair distance away, frozen in place.

And I can't look away from Baz. Because he's so beautiful and I've been so stupid and I'm in love with him and it's all so _hard._

My feet force themselves to move, hands still buried deep into the green jacket pockets by my sides. I'll talk to him, despite having no idea what to say.

This is all strange to me still- the wanting to talk to Baz despite not knowing where to begin. I want to be around him constantly, the presence of him makes me feel so alive.

The sound of my feet against the leaves and twigs is enough to alert Baz of me. He looks up, but his expression doesn't give much away as to what he's thinking.

"Can I sit?" Baz nods and shifts over a little bit, the tree stump barely large enough for the both of us. I fight back any reaction as my leg is forced to press into Baz's.

I scan the area, still not knowing what to say just yet. My gaze lands on something in the distance, it's a deer that's evidently dead. Baz follows my lingering gaze, and I feel him tense up beside me.

From this distance, it's hard to tell what exactly killed the deer. I spot a large amount of blood around it's sides, though the thing isn't mangled in the slightest. Then it hits me.

I've always suspected Baz was a vampire. Known, really. It's not really shocking that Baz was the reason for the deer's death, nor is it shocking that he's a vampire.

My gaze continues scanning the forest. Baz makes a distressed sound from beside me that I barely make out. I elbow him in the side lightly.

"Don't worry about it, okay?" Baz turns his head towards me at that, a slow and calculated movement. He looks at me for a few seconds before shyly turning his gaze to the dirt at his feet.

"Thanks, Simon." He says. "I expected some big spectacle once you figured it out. But this is a lot more than I deserve."

I throw my arm around his shoulder at that. "You've never tried to hurt me in all the years we've roomed together. That says something, alright? Now don't worry about it."

Baz physically relaxes, his shoulders losing their tension from where they rest under my arm.

We let a minute pass in silence, our eyes caught up in the wonderful surroundings. Baz breaks the silence not long after.

 **Baz**

"Simon?" I say. The feeling of his arm wrapped around my shoulder, our sides pressed together, is doing things to me that definitely should not be allowed.

"Mhm?" He responds, making no move to remove his arm.

I'm ready then, to confess the thing that has been tormenting me for the longest years of my life. I'm finally ready to let the boy I love know a little bit about how I feel about him.

I have hope, just a little, that after how supportive Simon has been to me these past few days, maybe he'll let me down easy.

Simon doesn't push me as I take a pause to gather my breath. This isn't an easy thing to say despite how ready I'm feeling. Love will never be anything but hard.

"I have feelings for you, Simon." The words are a breath of air I so desperately needed to let out. I'm anticipating the hand slung across my shoulders will retract at any given moment.

A pause. Simon lets a few moments go by in silence.

 _Please go easy on me._

He still doesn't speak, but I feel Simon's thumb move back and forth across my shoulder. It's such a subtle movement that speaks great volumes. Then I feel a tickle of curls along my neck as Simon rests his head against my shoulder.

"Me too, Baz. Me too."


	20. Worth the Wait

**Baz**

It's funny how you can map out a situation thousands of times over, and yet still find yourself surprised at the outcome.

" _I have feelings for you, Simon."_

" _Me too, Baz. Me too."_

A beat of silence passes between us, the air filled with twittering of birds and rustling of leaves.

Simon's head falls against my shoulder, his curls faintly brushing my neck. My arm finds its way around him, and Simon leans into the touch softly.

Even though we don't say it, this is the picture of love, and it's more beautiful than I could have ever imagined.

 **Simon**

When Baz told me he has feelings for me, it was the easiest thing to tell him I felt the same way. There's only one question in my mind now.

I let my head fall against Baz's shoulder, my heart more than content at the added closeness. Baz snakes an arm around me too, and I use the comfortable silence to think.

'Feelings' is quite a vague word, and Baz definitely chose it carefully. That could mean anything from a quiet crush to an overwhelming feeling of love. Just the thought of Baz being in love with me sends my pulse into a frenzy.

He must pick up on something, because the arm wrapped around me tightens just enough to drag my thoughts back to the present.

"Hey," Baz mutters, the feeling of his lips against my temple is enough to have my eyes flutter shut.

"Hey." I say back. Baz kisses the spot where his lips meet my temple before pulling away slightly.

"What're you thinking about, Simon?" I can't tell him, not now. I have to give whatever this is some time. I want Baz to be able to tell me what he's feeling when he's ready to.

"I'm just thinking about us, Baz, this is all so new to me." I turn so that we're facing each other, finding a pair of grey eyes already on mine. "I didn't even know I was attracted to-" Taking a breath, I scrub a hand across my face. Needing a minute to figure out what to say.

Instead I kiss Baz. It's reckless of me, really. He gasps against my lips and allows the kiss to linger for a few seconds before pulling away.

"Baz," I say, touching his shoulder as he angles his head away from me. "I'm sorry, look at me."

He shakes his head lightly but complies. The sun reveals the golden liquid lining the edge of Baz's eyes, and I realize he's smiling softly.

The sight of Baz near tears because he got to kiss me is overwhelming.

The fact that such a simple gesture to some, could mean so much to him coming from me.

"Aw, Baz!" I wrap my arms around him slowly. I'm smiling softly now. "You're too sweet for me."

It's hard to believe this means so much to Baz. The thought that it truly does makes my eyes water, and I feel him bury his face into my neck.

I look up to the trees, the sun filtering through them and blink back the tears that threaten to fall. My eyes sting with the effort, but my gaze remains on the sky.

"We were meant for this, Baz," My hand moves from its place against his back. I watch the way the golden golden light fills my open palm. "For each other -I mean. We've been waiting too long for the world to stop putting us against each other. Today is the day we stop fighting and learn to love."

 **Baz**

When Simon kissed me, my emotions spilled. The years of build up somehow weren't enough to ready me for a possibility that he would make the first move. That Simon would make a move at all.

Near tears, I'm pulled into the arms that I'd so badly needed all of my life.

" _...Today is the day we stop fighting and learn to love."_ Everything, all that he's said and done these past few minutes, has shattered me. I can feel my walls breaking for Simon, every single one is crumbling beneath his words.

"Simon," I croak into his neck. A hand running through my hair is his only response.

"Simon-" I start again, trying and failing to convey everything I'm feeling in this moment. So very badly I want to tell Simon that I love him. The words don't come, though.

"It's okay," he says, fingers still idly running through my hair. I look up and realize Simon was just as close to tears as me. He offers a shy smile which I return.

"-I," _love you._ "I want you, Simon. For all you are. The person that you've been all these years, the person that you've so beautifully become. I want you."

This time, when Simon's lips smash into mine, I don't pull away.


	21. To Be Wanted

**Baz**

Simon kisses me again, and this time I don't pull away. This time the want I've been nursing inside me is enough to overpower any doubt in my mind.

My hands thread themselves through Simon's ruddy curls, and he sighs onto my lips. One hand is resting gently at the nape of my neck, another firmly planted at my back. We're so beautifully _close_ , and it feels so _good_ to be doing something other than fighting.

"Baz," Simon gasps as I lightly tug at his curls. I offer a tight lipped smile that I'm sure he can feel more than see.

"Mm?" I hum in response. He pulls back a hair's breadth, enough that the tip of our noses brush.

He grins slightly, and I find myself lost in the boyishness that is Simon Snow. "I thought I was supposed to be the experienced kisser, is all."

I can't help reciprocating his smile then, as the memory comes flooding back to me. "The car," I breathe, and Simon leans his forehead against mine.

The image of us two in a car, driving to this very mansion only a few days ago comes back to me. We'd been expecting Fiona to nag us about never kissing, and Simon was the one to suggest I practice on him.

I grab the front of Simon's pine green jacket and pull until his lips are back against mine. This time Simon gets his hands into my hair, and I practically pur. All of my love from the past few years is going into this kiss, and it's all I can do to keep the words inside. I'm not ready to tell Simon I love him yet.

His lips part in silent invitation, and even with my limited experience I know what he's asking of me. My tongue slips into Simon's mouth then, and my heart is set on fire. _I'm so in love with him._

Suddenly the years of waiting don't feel adequate to the sheer pleasure of this moment. _Simon, the boy I want to spend my life with, likes me._

It's always felt dangerous to hope. To keep the possibility in mind that Simon _could_ like me. And so I'd never dreamed of this moment becoming a reality.

He pulls away then, and we're both flushed, lightly gasping for breath.

"How long, Simon?" He doesn't break eye contact, and the intimacy in which Simon keeps my gaze is slightly intimidating. I don't look away though.

"It's been festering inside me somewhere for a while, Baz. Everyone putting us against each other must have pushed any feelings for you deep down. Please believe me when I say I've only just figured myself out during this trip, though I don't regret anything. I want to be with you Baz."

Simon's leg is pressed up against mine from where we sit on the tree stump. I look down and realize his hand has a slight tremble coursing through it.

My hand immediately finds itself overtop his, and I'm squeezing lightly. "Your shaking, Simon." He huffs out a breath and looks at his lap.

"It's just, this isn't easy for me. I know I have feelings for you. I know I want to kiss you. It's just the going through with things that's scaring me."

My fingers thread themselves through Simon's, and I'm surprised to find his pulse steady. "I always thought I was the one who had to worry, Simon. You always seem so confident, even when everyone knows you have no clue what the hell you're doing."

That gets a little chuckle out of us both, and he squeezes my hand once. "It's just nerve racking, ya know?" Simon breathes, and the silence that comes after is almost answer enough.

"It is nerve racking. I've wanted you for a while, Simon. I'm just learning now that wanting you and actually having you are two very different things from each other."

He smiles coyly, and I elbow him. "I had a feeling you were crushing on me, Baz. Hearing you admit it is strangely comforting."

"Same goes for you," I mumble, but can't help the sheepish grin that creeps into my face. I lean over to kiss his cheek, but Simon turns his head and catches my lips before I can think.

I allow the kiss to linger for a minute before breathlessly standing up. "We should head inside, dinner should be ready soon."

He nods and gets up, our fingers still interlaced as we begin making our way through the woods and back to the mansion.

"Your father might actually be happy for us."

I stop in my tracks then, and since we're still holding hands, Simon is forced to pause as well.

The expression on his face turns to worry as he searches my face. "That's only if you want to tell your father, of course. I didn't mean to suggest anything Baz-"

I drop his hand and cut Simon off when I lunge for him. He's briefly startled, but soon enough I feel the hands wrap around me as tightly as mine are around him.

"Oh Baz," He breathes. All I can do to suppress my grin is bury my face against Simon's neck. Because it's the knowing that my family accepts us. That they're _happy_ for Simon and I. It's almost too much to take in.

"I love-" My breath catches in my throat as I realize what I'd been about to say. _I love you._ Simon stills around me, and it's all I can do not to collapse right here. "I love knowing that we're accepted by my family, Simon."

The tension in his shoulders releases after realizing I wasn't about to say I loved him. Soon enough, I'll work up the courage to say it. "I'm glad too, Baz. I'm happy for you."

I pull away from him at that, the words hit me harder than I'd thought. I'm staring at Simon for a moment, his words echoing through my head. _I'm happy for you._

"Hey," I whisper, moving a hand up to cup his cheek. The sad smile on Simon's face almost breaks me. "This is your family now, too. You're a part of this." He lets out a small whimper.

My thumb brushes across Simon's jaw, and I don't miss the glistening of tears in his eyes. He's never in his life had a father to show him how to ride a bike, a mother to offer him hugs and pack his lunch. The thought crushes me. I couldn't live without the parents I've been blessed with.

"God, Simon," my voice breaks as his world comes crashing down on me. I'm slowly realizing just everything he's been through. Simon's teary eyes are searching mine, and I catch him bite his trembling bottom lip. "You don't deserve the crap life gave you."

He leans his cheek into my hand from where I cup his cheek, and all I can do is watch as Simon's eyes flutter shut almost peacefully. "A family," He mutters, almost to himself. I lean down and kiss his forehead. "I'd never imagined having one." Simon smiles sadly and chuckles. "It's too much, Baz." He croaks.

"Hey," I say. "Simon. Parents are people no one deserves to grow up without. The absence of them is something I can't even fathom being able to live with. I was lucky enough to have my mother for as long as I did, and realizing just what you've grown up with is fucking awful."

I'm breathing heavy now, blinking away the stinging in my eyes. I want to tell Simon more than ever now, that he is loved, but upon opening my mouth to speak, I find my voice doesn't want to work.

"I'm sorry," is all that comes out. Simon leans into me, a featherlight press of lips against mine.

"It's not your fault," he breathes. "It's okay, Baz. I'm okay." He kisses me like we've got all the time in the world. We do, I realize suddenly.

I pull back and look Simon in the eyes with an expression of softness. "I want you to be more than okay, Simon."

"Baz, giving yourself to me has already made me a lot more than okay. I have a family now, I have you, I feel more whole than I ever have in this life." He presses another kiss to my lips, and the feeling still sends my heart into a frenzy. My pulse flutters a little bit every time.

With that, Simon grabs my hand and laces our fingers together. We walk back to the mansion in comfortable silence, each caught up in this new feeling of being wanted. Being _had._

Father and Fiona open the back door as they sees us approach, letting us know that dinner is nearly prepared. I see father's eyes flick to where our hands meet, and he smiles. We didn't have to put on a show for anyone in the woods, no one was there to watch us. This is purely for Simon and I. Now our family will know it.


	22. Love in Different Ways

**Baz**

As Simon and I enter the mansion through the back door, we find Fiona and father are already gone. They must have made their way over to the dinner table to wait for us. I kick off my shoes and Simon removes his jacket, hanging it on a little coat rack we keep for the backyard.

I fumble for Simon's hand as we start making our way to the dining room, determined to flaunt our newly developed _real_ relationship. Before I can even leave the room, Simon pulls me to him and presses a brief kiss to my lips.

I stop in my tracks, determined to kiss him for longer, but Simon only pulls away with a smile. Groaning in protest, I nudge my nose along Simon's jawline. He gives in and kisses me once more before looking me in the eyes.

"We'll save the rest for later, Baz."

Then I'm smiling, the promise in Simon's words are enough to have me stop complaining. Our hands are still locked together as we approach the dinner table, and I find all of the eyes in the room on us.

Mordelia is the one that appears confused. She's seven, so I wouldn't expect her to understand. Father sends me a warm look, and all I can do is smile as Simon settles in to the chair next to me.

"I see you two have had a good day." Smirking, Fiona breaks the silence, pointedly looking to where our hands disappear beneath the tablecloth. I feel Simon squeeze my palm before speaking.

"We've worked everything out this afternoon. The whole fake dating scenario shouldn't have gone as far as it did. Baz must have been feeling brave today, because he told me he likes me. We're dating for real now. Baz is my boyfriend."

Hearing the words ' _Baz is my boyfriend'_ leave Simon's mouth has my heart fluttering.

"I'm glad to hear that you boys are happy," Father starts. "I know you've been through a lot."

He's looking at me while saying those words, and the support from him is getting me to cave.

"Thanks, father." I say, hoping my tone doesn't betray just how soft I'm feeling. As everyone starts digging in to their dinners, I chance a look at Mordelia. She's focused in on her meal, no longer caught up in Simon and I, but I'm smart enough to know she won't let it go so easily.

Just then she looks up and finds my eyes already on her. I freeze for a moment, attempting to guess at what she'll say.

"Why are you dating a boy?" She says. Just like that silence passes through the room, and I notice Fiona with a hand over her mouth, trying to stop herself from laughing. Simon stills beside me.

I open my mouth to speak, but father beats me to it. "Baz can be with whomever he wants to, sweetie. Some people are meant to love differently, and that's more than okay. There are boys that like boys and girls that like girls, all that matters is that you're happy."

Surprisingly enough, Mordelia seems satisfied with that answer, nodding and returning to her food.

My eyes return to father then, and he's looking at me with an expression that is softer than I've seen from him. Fiona leans over and squeezes his shoulder, seemingly picking up on the feat that is father openly accepting me.

Simon leans over and brushes a thumb across my cheek, and suddenly I'm aware of the tear rolling down my face. I'm smiling softly, and as my eyes flit to the boy in front of me, I realize Simon is too. He finds my hand under the table once again, squeezing once before letting go and turning back to his plate.

As Fiona and Simon focus back on eating, father nods his head once in my direction. I mouth a soft "I love you," before going back to my dinner.

 **Simon**

After finishing up, I carry my plate into the kitchen. Baz follows, leaving his utensils in the sink. He lets Malcolm know that we'll be heading up to his room for the night.

Padding up the stairs, my mind goes to the time where I'd found Baz in this upstairs hallway, curled up against the wall and crying. That was after overhearing his dad talking to Fiona. It was an amazing thing to see how much people can change. Tonight's dinner was a demonstration of that.

I let Baz walk ahead of me and open the bedroom door before following him inside. The promise from earlier pops into my head, and I pull Baz to me before kissing him. He fumbles for the doorknob and pushes it closed behind him.

Then hands are in my hair, and I'm falling. I've never felt so in love with Baz, partly because we can be together without consequence now. I've allowed myself to fall deeper into this boy, knowing that it'll all work out.

Baz's back hits the door and we both chuckle against lips. It's not long before we're kissing again, trying to convey things beyond words.

There's a knock at the door then, and we freeze. Baz looks at me partly with humor in getting caught and partly in question of who's at the door. After a couple of seconds there's another knock, and Baz peels himself away from me and the door in order to open it.

He visibly relaxes when realizing it's only Fiona, holding the house phone. Bringing it to her ear, she says "give me a minute," before covering the receiver with her hand.

"Jesus god, Baz. It's not like I walked in on you two having sex. You look fucking mortified."

He releases a strangled laugh at that, which in turn gets Fiona and I to start laughing. "Okay, okay. Your friend Niall called the house, saying he had to talk to you. Do me a favor and speak to your mate before resuming your snogging."

With that she shoves the phone into Baz's hand and walks away. I shut the door and nod at Baz in a sort of 'don't mind me' gesture. I sprawl myself over Baz's bed and stare at the ceiling as he lies on the couch by the fireplace.

"What's going on, Niall?" There's a few beats of silence before Baz starts laughing.

 **Baz**

It's hasn't been very long since I'd last spoken to my mates Dev and Niall. At some point during this trip when all I could think about was Simon, I called Niall and told him to put the phone on speaker, so Dev would be able to hear.

That day, I got into explaining what I've felt for Simon, or how exactly it happened. I figured it would be easier to tell them over phone than in person, hoping they would understand. Of course they were more than okay with everything, joking around about what the two of us do in our dorm back at Watford.

Niall's phone call was a little bit of a shock to me, though I'm curious as to why he's calling, if there's a reason at all. He may just be calling to say hello.

I put the phone to my ear. "What's going on, Niall?"

He breathes a sigh of relief at my voice before speaking. "Long story short, Dev kissed me, and I'm having a bit of a sexuality crisis."

Just like that I'm laughing, I know I shouldn't be, but the thought of something similar to my crisis over Simon happening to Niall is almost freeing.

"Sorry," I say, finally calming down. "I know I shouldn't be laughing."

"Asshole," Niall says. "It's not funny. I think I like him, Baz. And I'm scared I fucked things up after Dev kissed me. I didn't know how to react at the time, but after getting some time to think back on it, I think I want to do it again"

"That's great, Niall! Not that you possibly fucked things up, but that you figured yourself out. Don't you think if you tried kissing Dev tonight, explaining that you were confused, he'd be understanding? He probably still wants you, mate."

Simon makes a strangled sound of surprise from where he lies on the bed, and it's a struggle to bite back the laugh clawing up my throat.

"I hope so." The line goes quiet for a few seconds, and the sadness in Niall's voice hurts to think about. I've felt this way about Simon for years. "I don't know what I'll do if he hates me, Baz."

"He wouldn't, Niall, you and I both know that. If Dev was the one to kiss you, I think he'd be pretty happy to have you decide you liked it." He huffs out a breath.

"Thanks a lot, Baz." Niall's voice is soft with emotion, and I'm overcome with a feeling I can't pinpoint. It's hard hearing my mate like this.

"Niall?" I say, hoping he he's still on the line. "Hey, don't hang up yet."

"I'm still here. What is it?"

"I love you, mate. You'll do great." I can almost see the smile on his face as the line goes dead.

 **Simon**

Overhearing the conversation Baz has had with Niall made me feel almost ashamed. I probably shouldn't have been staying in the same room. The way Baz spoke to his friend is something I can't get over.

"Hey," Baz says, smiling as he lies next to me. He mirrors my position, lying with both hands behind his head, eyes on the ceiling.

"Sorry I listened." I say. "That sounded pretty personal." Baz leans over and kisses my cheek, my face warming at the contact.

"It's alright, you couldn't have known what that'd be about. I can guarantee those two are going to be all over each other when we get back to Watford. You'd've found out on your own pretty fast."

I roll over and rest my head on Baz's chest. "You gonna sleep with me again tonight?" I mumble, remembering what happened the last time we shared this bed. The morning after we did- to be precise. That was when I'd caught Baz being self conscious about his body.

He must realize it too, because I catch a hand unconsciously graze over his shirt, right above where his ribs are. I lift my head from were it rests against Baz's chest. Tugging the front of his shirt down lower, I kiss Baz's collarbone in subtle reminder that his body is perfect the way it is.

One hand moves to rest on the back of my neck, and I lean into the touch, dropping my head back to Baz's chest. "Yeah," He says. "We can both sleep here tonight."

With that, the two of us get ready for bed. I settle in first and wait for Baz, pulling him to me once he slithers under the covers.

It's a beautiful thought, that love will come through in the end. That we can all have something in this cruel world. Love will always win.


	23. A Heart Given

**Baz**

My eyes blink lazily at the morning light filtering through the curtains. I'm fully awake when I register the fingers threading through my hair. My mouth forms a lazy grin.

"Morning," Simon whispers, pressing a light kiss to my brow.

"Morning," I respond, making a move to sit up. Simon leans into me and wraps his arms around my middle.

"Want to get some breakfast?" I say. Simon nods once into my shoulder and we slide off of the bed.

As I turn the doorknob I feel a hand grab for mine, and my fingers automatically thread themselves through Simon's as we make our way downstairs.

"Baz?" I hear as we pad into the kitchen.

"Yeah?" There's a long silence before I get an answer.

"How long have you... liked me? I know it shouldn't be important or anything now that we're together, but I guess I was just wondering. You always acted as if you couldn't stand me back at Watford."

The question stops me in my tracks, and I turn to face Simon. "I, -it's been a little bit, that's for sure." Stumbling, I find myself unable to give a straight answer. The vulnerabilities from these past few years all seem to be coming back to me.

Simon is looking at me expectantly, somehow understanding my inability to answer the question. After a few more seconds, he places an understanding hand on my shoulder, squeezing lightly before turning away.

"What do you want to eat?" He asks, rummaging through the refrigerator. At this point, I couldn't care less. I'm too caught up in what Simon must be thinking. My answer before was vague enough, though he must be onto me.

"Whatever we have is fine." I respond. With that, he pours a glass of milk for each of us, and I can't help but smile at how Simon it is to drink milk instead of coffee in the morning. He pads back over to the counter and puts two slices of bread in the toaster before sitting across from me at the table.

I must have a look of sheepishness on my face, because he places a hand overtop mine. "Baz," Simon starts. "Forget I asked, okay?"

It's like accepting defeat, but I nod, thinking of how badly I want to tell Simon not just how long I've liked him, but of all the years I've loved him. _Soon,_ I tell myself.

"I started realizing I liked you on this trip Baz. There were times when I guessed you were crushing on me- guess that was part of what sparked my feelings for you."

Before I can give a response, the sound of the toaster gets Simon up again. I stare at his seat until he returns with two plates of toast and some butter.

"Don't look at me like that. Just eat, Baz." So we do, sitting in what is mostly comfortable silence.

 **Simon**

After we finish eating, Baz pulls me in for a brief kiss before letting me know he has something to do. I decide it's better not to question him any further, and let him get to whatever it is he plans on getting done.

I walk into the living room and plop down on the couch with a content little sigh. These past few days have felt amazing.

One thing won't get out of my mind, though. It's the notion that Baz had a look of apprehension about him after I asked him how long he liked me. I know he does, it's no secret now that we're dating, but I can't help wanting to know why he couldn't answer me properly.

I lie down in silence for a few more minutes, just staring at the ceiling, before deciding to look for him. I'm curious as to just what he's doing at the moment.

Walking up the stairs, I pause at the top of the staircase, not knowing which room Baz went to. A few beats of silence pass before my feet begin to move.

I stop in front of the reading room and peek inside. The door is only open a sliver, but I can make out Baz perfectly. It was the sound that led me here, and I know I won't be able to tear my eyes away.

Baz is playing the violin. Eyes shut, seemingly at peace as he pulls the bow across the strings. It's a mystery to me just how long I must've been staring, though I've ever heard a sound so pleasant. Suddenly a soft smile creeps onto my face, and it's the thought that Baz has something he loves that puts it there.

When Baz concludes the current piece, I push the door open gently, hoping to alert him of my presence. He looks startled for a moment, more so at the thought that I'd been watching the entire piece being played than anything else.

"That sounded beautiful, Baz." I breathe, breaking the silence, he only blinks up at me in return for a moment.

"Thank you," He says, shyly looking away.

With that, I walk over to where Baz sits in the middle of the room, tilting his chin until he's looking at me. "I mean it, you play beautifully."

He tries to look away again, but I've got a solid grip. Instead, I decide to kiss Baz lightly, and he responds with a gasp, hands flying up to grip my shirt.

"You should play more often," I murmur. "I like it when you do."

I'm met with a grin then, "If you like it, then how can I say no."

"You want to stay and play a bit more, or are you going to come with me back to the room?"

"I'm coming," Baz says, placing the violin back into its case.

 **Baz**

Learning that Simon had been listening to me -enjoying it even- was something of a shock. I was flattered and embarrassed all at once.

Making our way down the hallway, Simon stops to go to the bathroom, letting me know he'll be at our room in a minute.

I don't know what it is that comes over me. It's a reckless thought really. Before I can give it a second thought, or regret what I'm about to do- I do it.

 **Simon**

The door to Baz's room is closed when I get there, and I knock lightly before pushing it open.

A quick scan of the room tells me that Baz isn't here. Where could he have gone? I walk over to the attached bathroom and find it to be empty as well.

Walking back to the main bedroom, my eyes fall on something. I can feel myself go still, insides and all. Shakily, I step forward until my knees give out and I'm sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace.

I can't peel my eyes away from the table. _What have you done, Baz?_ Is my only thought.

Because lying in front of me is not the thing I believed to be plotting and schemes. It's a boy and his thoughts. A book and a key that were meant for no ones eyes but his.

Tears spring to my eyes as the thought registers.

This is the key to Baz's heart.


	24. Love Burns

**Simon**

The key to Baz's heart, laid bare for me.

I'm scared half to death by the sheer intimacy of the gesture, especially considering the fact that Baz is gone. He wanted me to read this away from any prying eyes, himself included.

The sky is beginning to darken, and so I turn the nearest lamp on, casting the room in a yellowish-pink hue. The sound of my ragged breathing is the only sound aside from the crackling fireplace across from me.

What could this mean? Baz has gone through endless amounts of trouble to ensure this never got into my hands. With a quiet exhale, I brush a thumb along the edge of the baby blue cover. This almost feels too private, like it was a mistake.

Before I can get lost in my head, I tell myself to pick up the little key. With a small _click_ the lock drops back to the wooden coffee table.

This is it. My hands are trembling ever so slightly, despite the echoing thought that Baz _wants_ me to see this. There's something in here he means for me to find. I set the book on the wood and flip to the first page. There's no date at the top, but the handwriting is messier than Baz's is currently. It's safe to assume this is dated back a few years. God.

 _One can't help but wonder why life gives you hell. This is something that I think quite often, and most of the time, the question is silenced by a head of ruddy bronze curls sitting across from me. Brows furrowed in concentration as Simon tries to study for our chem test, I think maybe I haven't got it so bad._

My eyes shy away from the page, and I take a few steadying breaths.

This is going to break me.

I flip past two or three pages and resume reading, knowing that if I pause to think I won't be able to escape. Crowley, the date reads fourth year. That first entry must have also been from back then.

 _Fortune is something that seems to find those who don't realize they need it. You see, my entire life I've hoped for some bit of luck. A small hope that things will get better._

 _There are days when I am overcome with self pity. Times when I can't stop wallowing in the past. My mother. My family. Myself. I'm a vampire, and I can't stand myself for it. Some days I won't think about it at all, because I've got Simon to occupy my thoughts. The remainder of days, when I'm trapped in a dark place, Simon is my only relief._

 _It's like a sliver of light poking through the fog in my head. I feel like shit, doing what I do. And that's acting like an asshole towards my unsuspecting roommate, insulting him with whatever is left of my hollowed out thoughts. I'm met with a counterattack of insults each time, as to be expected. And somehow this only makes things worse. I bring it upon myself every time, yet that knowledge doesn't make it sting any less. I hate myself for hurting Simon._

" _You can tell me you're a vampire, Baz," He says. "I've known it to be true for a long time now."_

 _That's all it takes to bring up my walls, every single time. Like a caged animal, I'll fire some of the most vile, cruel things I can think up with all the intention of hurting Simon. As soon as the words are out, though, I realize that either Simon has gone silent, that he's near tears, or that I can sense magic in the air, meaning he's about to go off. Each of those outcomes has me wanting to die if only it could reverse the words I'd spoken._

As I read the last line, the words blur together as tears spring to my eyes. I squeeze my eyes shut to suppress them, taking shallow breaths in attempt at calming the patter of my heart.

Four years. That's how long it's been since Baz has written these words, thought these thoughts. More than anything, I want to find him and tell him that everything is okay. That can't you see? Everything worked out. But I know there's more to be seen. More that he intended for me to see. I don't know if I can do it without breaking completely.

All those years of insults and annoyance from Baz because he felt something he didn't want to feel for me. He's been suffering through those long days back at Watford. The days where he'd snap frequently must have been the ones where his feelings presented themselves often.

 _What did you want me to find, Baz?_ I think. There could be hundreds of pages in this little book. Flipping through some more, my finger catches on something. There's an entry that has a creased and battered corner. Baz must have come back to this page time and time again, whether it was to read or reflect upon. This must be it.

 _Breathe_. It's hard to right now, knowing that whatever is written on this page could change our relationship forever. The date reads sixth year.

 _I'm so in love with you, Simon Snow._

A blink, and a tear falls onto the page, another runs down my cheek. I can feel it with every fibre of my being, how much I love him. It's a physical pain in my chest, feeling what Baz has felt, knowing that he was scared to feel it.

 _I'm so in love with you, Simon Snow._

 _I've denied myself for too long now, and finally this is a thought I've acknowledged. I love you with more of myself than is healthy, and I'm scared to death. Because it's the thought that you hate me with that beautiful heart of yours that is too much to bear. I'd rather die than hear from you that I'm stupid to let these feelings brainwash me, that it's nothing more than a boyish crush. Because I know it's more than that. How could it not be when my chest warms at the thought of you?_

 _My love has hidden itself for as long as was necessary. Hidden itself from the very person that is writing this. It was impossible for me to accept that I felt this way, especially if_

 _it meant losing a piece so vulnerable as my heart. I have given it to you, Simon Snow. I realize now that no matter if you will have it or not, my heart is yours._

I'm crying now. It's the ugly kind, full of emotion. I cover my face with a shuddering hand, knowing that another glance at the page will break my heart. _I will have it, Baz._ I want to tell him. _My heart is yours, as yours is mine, and always has been._

There's a knock at the door, which is already partially open, and a glance above my hand reveals Malcolm and Fiona.

"Oh, Simon." Fiona says before walking in to the room and sitting herself on the couch, arms wrapping around me. Malcolm follows her into the room, and sits on the opposite side.

"Baz let us know what he was going to do before he left," Malcolm starts. "The boy would never let anyone near that darned book." he laughs a little. "What he did tell Fiona and I is that there's a little love confession in there."

I can only nod, hands fumbling with each other. Fiona pulls away and pats my head twice, sighing. "Oh, how wonderful it is to be in love, Simon. I wish I still had the time you kids have. Forgive me for asking, and don't answer if you don't want to, but where things concern your relationship with Baz, do you…?"

"Love him? Yes." I say, putting my head in my hands. "Do you know where Baz went?"

Malcolm places a hand on my shoulder. "He's out back by the fire." The two leave without another word.

After a few minutes of silence, staring at the book in front of me, I pick up the diary and make my way to the back door before I can think about what to say. I slip on my green jacket and open the door.

I'm met by crisp night air, the faint wind a pleasant brush against my face. In the near distance a flicker of orange can be seen, Baz sitting with his back to the house. On silent feet, I pad towards where the fire illuminates the night. Once I'm a few metres away, I place the diary gently in the grass and walk over to where he sits on a log, facing the warm orange glow.

My hands slip around his chest from behind, and I hug Baz's to me until we're pressed together, his back against my front. I'm met with a content sigh at the contact.

My lips move to the shell of Baz's ear, allowing a few breaths to brush over his skin.

"I love you too, Baz."

A quiet, vulnerable sound escapes him at my words. Baz is shaking slightly, and if it weren't for my body wrapped around his, I wouldn't have been able to tell at all.

"I love you, Simon."

It's like my life has been leading up to this very moment. The time by which I will realize I loved and am in love with someone who can and has felt those same feelings for me. I press a kiss to Baz's jawline, and he shivers at the gesture.

Pulling back slightly, I notice the dried tears on Baz's cheeks. The firelight betrays that much to me, and I feel as if that was something I shouldn't have seen. Peeling my arms from where they wrap around Baz's front, I move to sit next to him on the log. He leans into my shoulder, hooking an arm around my waist.

Bringing my fingers to Baz's chin, I tilt his head just enough so that I can press his forehead to mine. "I will have it, Baz. I love you. My heart is yours as much as yours is mine."

With that, his lips are against mine in a faint kiss. One hand is at the nape of my neck, the other gripping my waist tightly. Both of mine are in raven hair, and it's more than I've ever known of this sorry world.

"Why'd you let me read it, Baz?" it's a faint murmur against lips, he doesn't pull away.

"Because you needed it, Simon. Everything in there, you needed to know. I see the way you carry yourself, even if you don't realize it. The things that drag you down weren't even known to yourself, but your life was missing love, Simon. I wanted to give you proof that even without parents, there was someone out there who loved you for years."

I'm kissing him again _,_ hoping, _praying_ that Baz understands all I'm trying to convey. How much those words affected me. Never have I truly acknowledged or thought about the absence of love in my life.

"Fuck, Baz." My voice is hoarse and broken. Breaths coming ragged and uneven. "I love you with everything I have left in me, and I'm sorry, sorry for the years of hell you went through waiting for me to say it."

Expecting his lips to press back in to mine, I am surprised when Baz crashes into my chest with a tight embrace. "You don't know how long I've waited, Simon. I was prepared to wait all my life even without ever hearing the words from you. There is no one else for me but you, and I was content to die with that same thought."

Baz's breath brushes against the skin where my neck meets my jaw, and he presses a light kiss there.

"Come, Simon. Let's announce our love to the night."

 **Baz**

Simon looks at me with a puzzled expression, and I smile knowingly. "Can you get out the diary?" I say, and he retrieves it from the grass.

Somewhere on the other side of the fire there is a small bag, and I drag it back to the log. Simon sits down with the book, eyes on the small satchel I'm holding.

There's question in his eyes, and I whisper to him just what I intend to do. Expecting refusal or further questioning, I wait silently. To my own surprise, Simon smiles and kisses me once before sticking his hand into the bag. He pulls out a few of its contents, dropping them onto the earth beneath our feet.

Before we can begin, Simon opens the diary, and it's difficult to make out words in the firelight. He runs his fingers over the page, and I begin to do the same. A crease at the corner reveals just what page this is, it feels fitting that we start here.

"Are you sure, Baz?"

"I'm certain."

So here is where it all starts. The moment where I let go of my past, the feelings of hurt and longing. Here is the moment where I embrace the love Simon has willingly given me. Now is when I will choose to live in the present, with the boy I can finally love openly.

Simon and I take to ripping out the pages I'd spent years of my life writing. We cut them in to the shapes of hearts. Hearts of various sizes and dimensions, letting our hands and the scissors go wherever they please.

The stars seem to glow with a fierce intensity I never noticed before. It's like losing this little part of me is freeing yet another, better part of myself.

I place the pile of hearts underneath a rock so that they don't blow away. Simon looks at me with a small amount of panic.

"I love you," He says in a reassuring tone, maybe thinking I'm regretting the choice of doing this.

I pick up one of the hearts, the words a faint memory now, from the page where I'd realized I love Simon. I raise my hand to the wind, watching the paper flutter between my fingers in the crisp night air.

Simon lifts a match to the edge of the paper, and time itself gives the illusion of slowing. We're silent as the paper catches fire, as I let go, as we watch the heart burn and flutter in the sky briefly before falling to ashes.

We do this for every single page and word in which I spent a little bit of myself in. When we get to the last one, Simon kisses me as he sets the words on fire, dropping the match as I let go of the paper. The night has stolen away my sorrows, my hopes for this very day. Because why meddle with the past when you can live in it? Why hang on to those days of sadness and pain when life has given me a second chance?

Simon pulls away with a sigh. "One more thing, Baz." He says, and I turn to where Simon searches the grass. He walks back over to me and opens my hand, dropping in it the key of which I used to memorize the shape. It's feel is almost imprinted in my palm.

When my eyes meet Simon's, I seem to understand. As I toss the key into the fire pit, everything clicks in to place. Because this was never it, the lock and key I used as a way to shut away my feelings. This was never really it. With a glance back into the eyes of the boy I am madly in love with, I realize what I should have known all my life.

Simon Snow is the key to my heart.

 **This is the final chapter to this work, and it's been so wonderful to write. I want to thank everyone that has made it all the way to the end, I appreciate it a whole lot!**


End file.
